Harry Potter and the Aevum of Eternity
by Thundercracker-TC
Summary: After the defeat of Voldemort, a young and sane Bellatrix Black awakens in a hidden vault and plots revenge. Hermione is unsuccessful in restoring her parents' memories and attempts a last ditch effort to find a cure over her final year of Hogwarts. Harry and Ron join the Aurors to help hunt down the surviving Death Eaters. Draco struggles to pay his debt to society, and more.. EWE
1. Chapter 1

Rated M for drug use, nudity, language, sex, violence, and implied child abuse.

Next chapter status is updated on my profile.

Harry Potter belongs to JKR

Harry Potter and the Aevum of Eternity

Chapter 1

Bellatrix's mouth opened reflexively and she tried to inhale, but some kind of thick, syrupy liquid filled her throat. Darkness filled her vision, opening or closing her eyes made no difference; it was pitch black. Her hands went to her neck; she couldn't breathe! A half-step forward and down, and her bare feet landed on cold stone. Her fingers clutched at the outside of her throat as duelling reflexes for gagging and inhaling fought for supremacy. Gagging won out, and Bellatrix doubled over and heaved, ejecting the disgusting warm liquid with a splatter onto the stone floor and her feet. Her body strained itself until she felt like her stomach was about to rip itself out of her throat, then she tried to gasp for breath but barely got anything in before she heaved again, spewing out another lungful of viscous liquid. Collapsing forward on all fours, she emptied the contents of her stomach in a seemingly endless stream from her nose and mouth before managing to get a half-breath in, her lungs rattling and burbling. A coughing fit wracked her body and somehow even more liquid splattered onto the ground. Throat finally clear, she collapsed and rolled onto her back, gasping in great gulps of air, blinking in the inky darkness. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Bellatrix realized she was lying naked on a cold floor in whatever she'd just vomited up, but she didn't care. She was alive.

It felt like minutes she simply lay there, listening to the sound of her own panting. Once her breathing calmed down, she tried to roll over, but her arms and legs weren't answering properly and every movement sent scorching pins and needles through her as blood flooded life-giving oxygen through her body. Another minute or two and strength returned enough to roll over and push herself up onto all fours again. With no light, her breaths and heartbeat sounded obscenely loud. What had happened?

Bellatrix closed her eyes (still just as dark) and tried to recall. She'd entered the secret room under the manor vault, looking for something… but her memories were hazy. She was due to return to Hogwarts later that day, how long had she been down here? She blindly felt around the dirty floor for a moment.

Where was her wand? Where were her clothes?

"_Lumos_," she said, trying a bit of wandless magic, but nothing happened.

"_Lumos!_" she said, with the same result.

She stood up slowly, the ground wet and cold beneath her feet. Already Bellatrix could feel the dankness of the cellar seeping into her body, the warmth of her vomit cooling quickly and chilling her skin. It wouldn't be long before her extremities started to feel numb from the cold. Feeling around blindly, her hands landed on a metal frame of some kind, then she moved past it.

"_I've got to get out of here,_" she thought.

Slowly, she inched her way across the floor, trying her best not to think about whatever it was crunching underneath and between her toes, mixed in with the dust and pebbles and other debris. Step by step, she felt her way around bookshelves and cabinets until eventually she came to a stone wall. Turning right, Bellatrix inched her way along the wall until she found what she was looking for, a wooden stair. Sighing with relief, she went to take a step up and stubbed her toe on a jagged rock. Stifling a yelp of pain, she squatted down and felt her way forward, only to come up against a pile of stones, some larger than her torso. The staircase had collapsed, perhaps the entire vault above her had collapsed. Panic gripped her at the thought of being trapped down here in the dark, and overcame her fear of being caught where she shouldn't have been.

"Hello? Mother! Father!" she called, "Andy!" The silence was deafening.

"Help! Cissy! Anybody!" she yelled again.

"Mimpsy!" she yelled, the name of their house elf, but nobody came. She screamed again and again, for hours, until her voice grew hoarse and she could barely whisper.

Finally giving up on being heard, she felt her way around the hidden vault. It wasn't very large, and before long, she'd been all the way around the sub-basement, having only found a few books on a shelf, a locked cabinet she didn't dare try to open, and some kind of standing metal frame. Her own breathing filled her hearing, quicker and louder as the direness of her situation set in. Desperate, she tried to climb the rock pile, scaling her way to the ceiling of the vault where she tried to move the stones by hand, but only succeeded in causing a miniature avalanche. Exhausted, bruised, and now covered in scrapes she was sure were a bit bloody, she lay down next to the metal frame and drifted to sleep, waking up some time later, shivering in the cold. Thirst came for her; her mouth was completely parched. She huddled in a corner to try and stave off the cold, but the stones leeched the warmth from her body until her limbs shook uncontrollably and she couldn't feel her fingers or toes anymore.

"_Am I going to die down here in the dark, alone?_" she thought.

"Help," Bellatrix called again, but there was no strength to her voice and no response but the silence. She tried to hold out hope someone would come searching for her, surely Hogwarts would realize she was missing by now and alert her parents? At some point she woke again with a start, neck and back aching from how she'd slept.

"Mimpsy?" she called again, hopeless, "Dipsy?"

"Kreacher?"

A loud pop echoed around the room. Then there was light, blessed light, and she gasped. She could even see it through her eyelids. Blinded, she shielded her eyes with her arm.

"Not so bright," she said, and the light dimmed until she could see without squinting.

Before her stood the house elf, dressed in some kind of pillowcase, complete with a red sash hung over one shoulder. It was even more decrepit looking than she recalled, holding a ball of light in one hand, leaning forward and looking at her inquisitively.

"Thank Merlin," she rasped, "Kreacher, I need water."

The elf vanished with a pop, plunging the room back into darkness, and returned a few seconds later with a brown mug filled with warm water, which she guzzled down thirstily. The clean, clear liquid hurt her desiccated throat and felt like a lead weight in her stomach but she didn't care. She drank every last drop, then lowered the mug to find the ancient elf standing uncomfortably close to her, the tip of his nose only inches away from her face. She scooted back a few feet and drew her knees up to cover her nakedness.

"Miss is so very young," Kreacher said slowly, "and alive. Kreacher thought Miss had been killed."

"Not quite," she replied, voice still raw. She swallowed to try and clear it.

"Kreacher, I need… a robe, please, and my wand," she said, "or any wand, for that matter."

The elderly house-elf stared at her for an uncomfortable few seconds.

"Kreacher lives to serve the noble house of Black," the elf replied.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Chapter 2

_Fifteen weeks later…_

Hermione blinked in the early morning sunshine as she apparated just outside the village of Hogsmeade with a soft pop. She blearily looked up at the overcast sky. It wasn't raining yet but it might before lunch. Pulling her jumper about her a bit tighter, she checked her beaded bag and stowed her wand, then began the walk into into the village proper, tan coloured boots clicking on the cobblestones. The early morning air was cooler here than London, despite it being the end of summer. A light morning breeze carried just a hint of autumn, less than a month away. Even in this early hour, some of the villagers were already out and about. It took less than three minutes for her to notice the stares, and the whispers. She thought she might have heard 'Golden Girl' more than once on her short walk. Having lived amongst muggles for the better part of the last two months, she'd almost forgotten what it was to be a celebrity. She smiled politely at anyone daring enough to make eye contact with her, but she didn't break stride.

Before long, she'd reached the imposing arch at the entrance of the Three Broomsticks and stepped through the heavy wooden door to the dimly lit interior.

Most of the sturdy chairs were still stacked on top of tables, but there were a few near the front windows which were prepared and ready for patrons. The blonde and still attractive middle-aged proprietor paused her morning routine near the bar when Hermione stepped in, and smiled with one hand on her hip.

"Well, if it isn't Hermione Granger," she said.

"Hello Madam Rosmerta," Hermione replied, "table for two?"

"Take any one you like," Rosmerta replied, motioning to the empty establishment.

Hermione sat down heavily at one of the tables near the front. The room spun a bit and she felt a bit outside of herself, no doubt a side effect of traveling nearly half-way across the world just a day and a half prior. She'd woken up at 2am and was unable to fall back asleep, tossing and turning until 4am at which point she gave up on further slumber as a lost cause and switched on the tele until the sun came up.

"What can I get you, dear?" Rosmerta asked, approaching Hermione's table.

"Coffee, please," Hermione said, feeling she needed the boost to avoid making a fool of herself, "and a pot of tea, earl grey."

Rosmerta nodded.

"Anything to eat?" she asked.

Hermione shook her head.

"Perhaps later," she said.

Hermione ran her hands through her bushy mane of frizz, taking a steadying breath. The front door opened again and familiar witch entered, getting on in years, but unbowed by the trials of her life. Hermione couldn't help but smile as she saw her.

"Hello Headmaster," she said.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall said, a tight smile gracing her own lips as she smoothed out her traditional witches' robes and sat down opposite Hermione. The older witch was healthier than when Hermione had seen her last, less stressed and perhaps more well rested, but some lines had apparently been permanently added to her face. She removed her favourite pointed hat and placed on an adjacent table as she sat.

"It's good to see you again," McGonagall said.

"It's good to see you too, Professor," Hermione said.

Rosmerta arrived, a series of saucers, pots, and cups floating in her wake.

"Would you like anything to eat, Headmistress?" she asked.

"No, thank you Rosmerta," McGonagall replied.

The blonde nodded and stepped back behind the bar to give them some privacy, while the plates, cups, honey, sugar, milk, lemon, and pots arranged themselves neatly on the table with a series of clinking and clunking sounds.

"How are the repairs progressing?" Hermione asked, taking a sip of coffee once it had settled. It was still a bit too hot, but the shock of almost scalding her tongue helped snap her out of the daze she was in.

"Proceeding apace," McGonagall replied, pouring herself a steaming cup of earl grey, "we should be ready to re-open on September the first, as per the usual schedule."

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to help much with the repairs," Hermione said.

McGonagall pursed her lips in a smile that could have passed for a grimace.

"You were where you needed to be," McGonagall replied.

The older witch paused as if to consider her next words.

"I must admit I was quite sorry to hear your efforts in Australia were unsuccessful," she added, "memory charms can be exceedingly complex."

Hermione sighed and looked down into her cup, willing her tears to not fall. She'd been in Sydney for two months, watching her parents, trying repeated and increasingly more complicated efforts to undo the obliviation, memory, and compulsion charms she'd placed on them at the start of what would have been her seventh year. She'd made them forget about her and fly halfway around the world, and undoing that had proven impossible during her two month excursion. Somewhere around week six, the full realization of what she'd done had hit her and the truth that she might never get her parents back caused her to hole up in her hotel room for a full twenty-four hours. That crushing sense of despair was more of a dull ache now, but still very much present.

"Actually Professor, in… in the course of my research I found that there might be a way," Hermione said, "possibly."

"_A very, very remote possibility," _Hermione thought.

"I'll admit it's, well, it would be difficult," Hermione said, "mostly because I would… I would have to invent it."

McGonagall leaned back in her seat and slowly took another sip of tea.

"Spell creation is difficult and dangerous, Miss Granger, even for experienced witches and wizards," McGonagall said.

"The charm itself is actually relatively simple, it's the… potion which would be difficult," Hermione said, the second half of her sentence spoken into her coffee cup.

"You wish to create a potion to be used in conjunction with a… what, a renewal charm, to undo the memory charms you placed on your parents?" McGonagall said, eyebrows narrowed in thought.

"Yes, more or less, the problem is though, I don't have a lab to test the potion," Hermione said, "I hate ask this of you Professor, but I don't have any gold left, and a Gringott's loan is obviously out of the question."

"Obviously," McGonagall said.

"Potions labs are expensive, and besides, I'd rather any money the Ministry has available be spent rebuilding and helping those who aren't able to care for themselves," she said, 'I'm sure I could make enough after graduation, I mean, after all, Golden Girl, right?"

Hermione let out a self-deprecating chuckle and took another sip of coffee.

"But the longer it goes…" she started.

"The more likely memory alterations or loss become permanent," McGonagall finished for her, "so what is it you wish of me, Miss Granger?"

Hermione took a deep breath.

"I'd like full access to the library to research the creation of the potion, and to the potions lab at Hogwarts, to test the new brew, once I'm ready to begin testing, I mean," Hermione asked, absently winding a finger through a lock of her unruly hair, "Most of the ingredients I'll either have to find or… figure out some way to get them, but.."

"Of course, Miss Granger," McGonagall interrupted, "I'll speak to Professor Slughorn today and ensure he arranges time for you to use the spare potion lab. Perhaps we could allow for some use of the school ingredients as well."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you Professor, I promise I'll use it responsibly," Hermione said.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall replied, taking on a slightly sterner tone, "after all you've done, after all you've been through, it's the least we could do. Tell me you didn't make the journey all the way up here just to make this request in person?"

Hermione smiled.  
"Well, perhaps I just wanted to see my favourite professor before the new term started," she said.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Miss Granger," McGonagall replied, smirking into her cup, "though it will be good to see you back at Hogwarts, few enough students are returning this year."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, enjoying their morning beverages.

"Professor, I did have one question," Hermione said, "my invitation letter..."

McGonagall nodded.

"Were it any normal year, I've no doubt you would have been selected Head Girl," McGonagall said, "but the staff felt it was unfair to deny the students of the class behind you their chance at being Head Girl or prefect because of the.. unusual circumstances, and I agreed."

"I understand," Hermione said, taking another sip, "Might I ask who…"

"Daisy Vane," McGonagall replied.

"Ah," Hermione said. She recalled the blonde Huffepuff, quite pretty and popular from what she remembered. Not a bad choice for Head Girl, perhaps not who she would have chosen but-

"Miss Granger, if I could offer some unsolicited advice?" McGonagall asked, interrupting Hermione's train of thought.

"Of course," Hermione replied.

"Aside from your special potions project, it might be good to take advantage of the opportunity to experience Hogwarts, without the added responsibility of prefect duties, or saving the world," McGonagall said, "and be a normal student, for once."

Hermione nodded.

"It's just… I don't really feel it's right, to try to be normal when so many people… just won't get the chance," Hermione said, "as if we're disrespecting them somehow."

"On the contrary, the freedom to live a normal life is what we were all fighting for," McGonagall replied.

Hermione nodded.

"I'll try," she said

"My door is always open to you," McGonagall said, "if you wish to talk."

"Thank you Professor," Hermione said with a smile.

They sat and exchanged pleasantries for a few more minutes, before McGonagall excused herself, affixed her hat, and returned to the castle, but not before paying for their drinks.

A few days later, school supplies purchased with her alarmingly rapidly dwindling supply of galleons, Hermione entered Kings Cross station. The weight of her trunk pulled heavily on her arm as she dragged it behind her, weaving between muggle businessmen and train station staff alike. Finally, she arrived at platform 10 and made her way to the wall which hid the entrance to the wizarding world, looking around to ensure nobody was staring directly at her before she stepped backwards and onto platform 9 ¾. The familiar sight of the bright red Hogwarts Express greeted her, steam already pouring from the locomotive. Dozens of children and parents buzzed about the platform in various stages of saying goodbye. The mood was more subdued than the last time she'd been here at the start of her sixth year. Looking around at the faces, however, she sensed a renewal of hope, like the first shoots of a tree growing light green leaves at the start of spring after a long cold winter. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she looked around for anyone she knew, and she broke into a full grin as she spotted Ron's distinctively ginger hair above the others. She felt her steps quicken as she made her way over to him, dodging parents and screaming children, almost trotting by the time she reached him. He spotted her when she was just a few feet away.

"Hermione!" he said, wrapping her in a tight hug as she buried her face in his chest.

She pulled back long enough to meet his lips in a kiss that was only slightly more than chaste, about as much as they could get away with on the very public train platform.

"Sorry I didn't stop by yesterday," she said, "I literally fell asleep as soon as I arrived home. Thank you for seeing me off."

"Of course," he said, taking her trunk off her hands.

"I'm technically here to see Ginny off as well, but…" he said, motioning to one side where Harry and Ginny were a short distance away, fervently embracing each other, Ginny's trunk forgotten next to them.

Hermione smirked, then blinked as a flash went off. Her amused smirk turned into a frown as she glared, seeking the source of the intrusion.

"Ah, young love," an annoyingly grating feminine voice said.

"Skeeter," Hermione growled under her breath.

The reporter's back was to Hermione as she slid in front of Harry and Ginny as they broke apart.

"Miss Weasley, you're going to be away from your boyfriend, the hero of the wizarding world, and most eligible bachelor of a generation, for a full four months, are you concerned at all anyone might try to steal him away?" Skeeter asked, Quick-Quotes Quill already scribbling down notes as it hovered over her shoulder. Her photographer took another picture.

"No comment," Ginny replied testily.

Hermione stalked over and grabbed the quill. Astonishingly, it'd already written three inches worth of interview notes.

"Can't you go annoy someone else?" Hermione asked.

Rita turned and gasped, putting a hand to her chest, eyes fluttering behind her dark rimmed glasses.

"Well if it isn't the entire Golden Trio," she said, "the heroes of Wizarding Britain, back together again!"

"Our readers are dying to know where you've been these last few months Miss Granger," Rita said, not missing a beat. The Quick-Quotes Quill vibrated impotently in Hermione's grasp.

Hermione wanted to tell Rita what she really thought of her and remind her of the secret she held over her, that Rita was an unregistered animagus, but unfortunately, a crowd was beginning to form. Hermione looked past Rita at the commotion they were now causing; people on the platform were starting to point and stare and whisper amongst themselves. Someone started applauding, and suddenly half the platform was giving them an ovation. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were all but forced to stand in front of the Hogwarts Express and smile for the cameras, though Harry stubbornly held Ginny next to him, in between himself and Ron.

As the flashes continued, Hermione felt her smile become strained. She blinked to try and clear her head but the flashes kept coming. The next thing she knew, she was climbing aboard the train, Harry pulling her up the steps by the hand and Ron right behind her with her trunk, and Ginny pulling up the rear with her own trunk.

"Hermione are you okay?" Ron asked.

She got the feeling it wasn't the first time he'd asked.

"I'm fine, why?" she replied.

"You nearly broke my hand," he said, hefting her trunk behind him and flexing said limb.

"Just a little nervous with all the attention," she said, "I'd gotten used to being anonymous again."

There was silence as they got the trunks settled into an empty compartment.

"It's the flashes, isn't it," Harry said quietly.

Hermione pursed her lips.

"The same thing happened to me for a while," he added when she didn't reply, "it gets better, slowly."

Hermione nodded.

The whistle sounded for the five minute warning.

Hermione moved forward and embraced Harry tightly, wrapping her arms under his, while Ginny and Ron engaged in a much quicker hug.

"I'm going to miss you," she said, "be careful."

"I'll miss you too," Harry replied, "be sure to write."

"Every week," Hermione said.

Hermione switched places with Ginny and was now hugging Ron tightly; his heart beat strongly through his shirt.

"Are you sure I can't persuade you to complete your academic career," Hermione said quietly, "you know how important it is."

"Merlin, I really want to, if only just to see you every day," Ron replied, "but I know myself, I'm not exactly a big fan of studying and tests, and well, someone's got to keep an eye on Harry."

He smirked, but there was sadness in his eyes.

"I'm going to miss you," Hermione said, looking up at him.

"Me too," Ron replied, "I love you."

"I love you too," she whispered, and closed her eyes as Ron kissed her.

She came up for air when the whistle for the one minute warning came, only to look over at Harry and Ginny to see them similarly engaged.

"Oi," Ron said, but they didn't break apart completely; Harry and Ginny were still touching foreheads, eyes almost closed, murmuring to each other and smiling.

"Harry, come on," Ron said, grabbing Harry by the arm and pulling him away from his sister.

"Make sure you win the cup for Gryffindor this year," Harry said.

"I will," Ginny replied, "I love you."

"I love you too," Harry replied.

Then the boys were gone, hustling off the train before the doors closed. Hermione and Ginny sat on opposite sides of the compartment, leaning forward to look out the window. They waved goodbye at the nearly full platform, but Hermione only had eyes for Harry and Ron, staring until they were out of sight.

Hermione smiled at Ginny.

"Sorry to hear about your parents," Ginny said, "Harry told me last night."

"There's still a chance yet," Hermione said, "I'm hoping to research something this year."  
Ginny nodded.

"Don't tell Ron I told you, but he was practically going spare all summer," the redhead said, "every other day he swore he was going to leave for Australia to help you."

"Help distract me more likely," Hermione said with a snort.

"That's probably what he had in mind as well," Ginny said with a mischievous grin.

There was a lull in the conversation when all they could hear was the train accelerating along the tracks, turning north, towards Scotland.

"How's your mum, and George?" Hermione asked.

Ginny sighed through her nose.

"Coping," she said, "some days are worse than others but overall it's getting better. It helped that Percy and Ron were around most of the time at the start of the summer. Truth be told it's probably a good thing George is at the Burrow, otherwise mum would be all alone during the day."

Hermione nodded, noting how Ginny's teeth had started worrying her lower lip.

She reached out and placed her hand on the redhead's.

"They'll be okay," she said.

Ginny looked up at her and smiled, giving her hand a squeeze.

They spoke more on their plans for the year, Ginny spoke a little bit about Quidditch but not overly much as she knew Hermione wasn't really interested. Before long they were changing into robes and boarding the thestral drawn carriages. Hermione and Ginny had a carriage to themselves; it appeared there really were less students this year. From the outside, Hogwarts looked the same as it always had, almost as if there hadn't been a battle fought four months earlier. Hermione had expected to feel something more when she saw the familiar areas, saw where friends had died, but what struck her most was how _normal_ everything was. Almost in a daze, she made her way to the Gryffindor table. Along the way she mumbled greetings to a few familiar faces, Dean Thomas, Neville, Parvati, and noted the gaping lack of some people, Lavender for one. She looked around the Great Hall, noting that there were perhaps only 70% of the number of students as in her sixth year. The sounds of children reuniting with old friends filled the air, and Hermione couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy towards anyone who could still feel merry in this place. Her gaze passed over the head table where the professors were seated. There was Slughorn, Sinistra, Vector, Hagrid (impossible to miss), McGonagall seated in Dumbledore's old throne, and a young man and woman she didn't recognize.

"_Probably Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration Professors,"_ she thought to herself.

She figured she'd know soon enough, the Sorting was about to begin...


	3. Chapter 3

Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Chapter 3

"Draco Malfoy," the receptionist called. It was a bit superfluous as he was currently the only one sitting in the waiting room, but he supposed they had their protocols. The blonde stood up and moved past the rows of wooden chairs to the window.

"Proceed to room 1 with probation officer Brandon Clark," the middle aged brunette said. She promptly went back to filing her nails.

Draco smoothed his (custom, tailored) robes and made his way to the office to meet the man who would more or less control his destiny for the next six months. Room 1 was a small interview room, two chairs, a wooden table, and that was about it. Brandon Clark, he assumed, was already seated, thumbing through a parchment file. Draco closed the wooden door behind him and took the seat opposite Clark. The parole officer was a slim man of average height, perhaps not quite thirty years of age, definitely not as tall as Draco, with short brown hair slicked back. He wore civilian dress robes rather than an Auror uniform, perhaps because of the nature of his job, and was immaculately clean shaven.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, use of an Unforgivable, multiple attempted murder counts including two which resulted in severe bodily harm, possession of the Dark Mark," Clark said, looking up and making eye contact, "entitled brat, and general all around tosser."

He slid the file across the table at Draco, who only moved a single finger to stop it from falling into his lap. He didn't break eye contact with Clark.

"Make no mistake, Mr. Malfoy, the only reason you're here and not somewhere much darker and with many more bars, is because the Chosen One, Harry Potter, spoke in your defence at your trial," Clark said, leaning over the table, "your family are known blood supremacists, how does it feel, to owe your life to a half-blood?"

"_He's only trying to get a rise out of you, don't fall for it," _Draco thought, keeping his expression neutral.

He pondered briefly whether the question was rhetorical before Clark continued talking.

"You're to report here to the Ministry every Sunday morning at 10am. Failure to do so will be considered a breach of your probation," he said, "your wand will be inspected during these appointments, but you are to submit for inspection upon request from any ministry official, at any time. Any use of Dark magic, spells which have the potential to cause grievous harm, be it physical, mental, or emotional, or any other suspicious activity will result in a re-evaluation of your probation. Am I understood?"

"I understand," Draco replied.

Clark smirked.

"As part of your probation, you've been assigned to a community service and outreach program, at an orphanage," Clark said, sliding another file over to Draco. This one the young pureblood opened and began scanning through as Clark continued speaking.

"If you fail to report for your assignment, or if the administrator of the orphanage deems you're not acting in a satisfactory manner-" Clark said.

"I know, I know, Azkaban," Draco said, without looking up.

A moment passed while Clark glared at Draco. Apparently, the probation officer did not appreciate being interrupted.

"We're keeping the cell next to your father open. There's a pool betting how long you'll last before landing there," Clark said, "honestly I'm a bit gutted I can't take part, conflict of interest, you see. I don't care what Potter or anyone else says; letting anyone who's taken the Mark walk free is a mockery of justice, and I'm hoping it'll be me who sends you away for a very long time."

"Duly noted," Draco deadpanned.

He thumbed through a few more pages of his assignment.

"Hang on," Draco said, "is this a muggle orphanage?"

Clark smirked.

"Fitting, don't you think?" Clark said, "surrounded by muggles, in close contact with them, day in and day out, completely illegal perform any kind of magic in front of them… you know, you could always take the cell."

Draco ignored him again, pulling some kind of muggle identification from the folder.

"Drake?" he asked.

"Draco isn't exactly a common muggle name," Clark replied.

"This start's today, I'm to be there in less than three hours," Draco said, ignoring the taunting of his probation officer.

"Better get a move on, scion of House Malfoy," Clark said mockingly, "wouldn't want to be late for work on your first day."

"I've never even been to muggle London, aren't they going to, you know, infect me or something?" Draco asked.

Clark's expression darkened.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," he growled, "get out, now."

The slamming of the door echoed down the hall as Draco left the interview room. He swore bloody revenge against the petty officer, but even as he thought it, he knew it would be impossible to carry out his fantasies, even if they did help him feel a bit better in the moment. Thoughts of revenge gave way to apprehension at venturing into muggle London. He'd never been, and had been raised with stories of the unclean muggles and their uncivilized ways. Sure, they were supposedly exaggerated, but there must have been some element of truth behind them. There was nothing for it though, if he didn't get through this, his life, such as it was, was essentially over.

He took the lift to the main entrance, ignoring the stares he received from the Ministry workers, and recovered his wand from the front desk. The atrium had been repaired, the garish sculpture Voldemort had placed there was long gone, replaced by a fountain, reflecting pool, and an obsidian obelisk memorial with all of the names of those who'd died in the so-called second wizarding war. Correction, all those who weren't Death Eaters who'd died in the so-called second wizarding war. He wondered idly whether his name would have made it onto the wall next to Vince's if he'd perished in that last battle. The faded tattoo on his forearm itched. Probably not.

He ignored the extra attention, and, wand again secure in holster, strode to the Floo.

"Diagon Alley," he said as he tossed in some of the available powder, then stepped into the green flames.

Stepping out of the public fireplace, Draco brushed some soot off his shoulder before turning left and heading down the street, into the London drizzle. He cast a rain repelling charm to keep dry as he walked the hundred meters or so to Gringotts. The hall where the tellers conducted their transactions had been completely repaired. Unlike wizards, the goblins erected no monument to their dead, those that Voldemort had slaughtered, or if the stories were to be believed, the damage Potter and his friends had caused when they'd broken in, or out. He'd never actually held muggle currency; he couldn't for the life of him understand why they used some kind of parchment instead of coins, but he supposed that's why they were muggles. He stuffed the notes into an inside pocket and stepped back out of the bank. He'd always hated dealing with the goblins; they were less interested in fair trade than in trying to get one over on you, even in something as simple as a currency exchange. Damn parasites.

He still had over two hours, perhaps he could find something to eat? That plan evaporated when, with a groan of impatience, Draco realized he couldn't go into muggle London wearing wizard's robes. He walked the five minutes to Madam Malkin's, ignoring the stares and mutters of the few witches and wizards he passed in the dreary weather. He opened the door to the shop to find it nearly empty; school holidays had ended the day before. He quickly found a small section devoted to muggle clothing. Odd that in seven years of attending Hogwarts, he'd not once noticed the section. Shaking his head, he turned and strode up to the front counter.

"Good morning Madam Malkin, I have need of muggle attire," Draco said.

"I'm sorry, we don't carry anything like that," the proprietor replied.

"I can literally see it from here, Malkin," Draco said, pointing to the section where said clothing sat on display.

Malkin shook her head.

"Your gold's no good here, Malfoy," Madam Malkin replied, "might I suggest Twilfitt and Tattings, just down the road?"

Draco pursed his lips and sent a glare at her, which she returned in equal measure. Finally he relented and turned to leave.

"Fine," he said, sneering leaving the store and closing the door with perhaps a bit more force than necessary.

He grumbled for the entirety of the fifteen minute walk to the south side of Diagon Alley. The difficulties in interacting and conducting day to day business were growing increasingly intolerable. It had started with refusal at some high end restaurants. Couldn't be seen with such a controversial figure, would drive off the other customers they said, with practiced faux apology in their expression and tone. Then it was various business partners of his father's. Couldn't be associated a known Death Eater and son of the Dark Lord's inner circle. Now he couldn't even exchange perfectly good gold for clothing from an otherwise empty shop! At least the rain had let up, for now. By the time he reached, he was thoroughly put out by Malkin and resolved to place her just under Clark on his imaginary list of individuals to take revenge on. How dare she refuse to serve him? He'd been acquitted, after all. What was the point of being found not guilty if you were still treated like a criminal? He was yet again disappointed when he arrived, this time foiled by a sign hanging on the inside of the door which read 'Out to lunch, back in 57 minutes'. As he read it, the 57 dropped to 56, but it wasn't much consolation for him; he didn't have that much time to spare. He supposed an establishment like Twilfitt's probably wouldn't carry muggle clothing anyway.

He turned on the spot and apparated to the Manor. The gates opened for him as he strode quickly up the main walkway, robes now fluttering behind his calves with the urgent pace of his steps. Quietly he opened the massive front door. The foyer was dark; without any house elves or servants, there was no one to draw the curtains. His mother certainly wasn't going to do it. Thankfully, he made it up the marble steps and down the hall to his room and wardrobe without incident.

He flipped through outfits, each more inappropriate than the last. What the bloody hell was he supposed to wear? Quickly he tried to recall the clothing of the mudblood students he'd seen on the Express. Not Granger, bloody swot. And female. Thomas, what did the Gryffindor wear? Draco seemed to recall him and some of the other mudbloods wearing those blue trousers quite often on the platform, not that he really kept track of what they wore, but it did seem to be some sort of trend. He didn't have any of those, so a pair of black pressed slacks and a blazer over a white shirt would have to do. He glanced into the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door.

"_Vanitus Capillus_," he said, pointing his wand at his hair to untangle it and give it a slight sheen.

Now with only 90 minutes left to go, he crept back out of the Manor again and apparated back to the Leaky Cauldron. He tucked his wand into his blazer pocket and leafed through the folder as he walked. There was a muggle (non-moving) map there detailing how to get to the orphanage. He swallowed at the hidden entrance. The moment of truth. He'd seen and walked past the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron dozens of times, but never once stepped through.

Draco took a deep breath and pushed the fake wall, stumbling through as it rolled back, ducked his head through the dimly lit bar without looking left or right, and shoved his way out the door and onto the street. The noise of muggle London assaulted him. Buses lumbered down the street and stationary automobiles lined the side of the road just off the walkway. Cyclists weaved between the traffic.

"Watch it!" a muggle cyclist wearing a blue helmet yelled at him and rang a bell as he took a step back. The bicycle continued zooming down the sidewalk. Apparently they went where they chose.

Muggles. Dozens of muggles, all around him, many carrying umbrellas. It was drizzling again. Sodding London. Draco muttered a curse under his breath as he cancelled his rain repelling charm. Then he pulled out the map provided and, after taking a moment to orient himself, pulled his collar up and started walking.

After nearly being assaulted by an automobile at a crosswalk (wait for the green man, Draco), he finally made it to his destination, Shady Brook Orphanage. The blonde looked both directions but didn't see anything resembling a brook, just blocks and blocks of concrete cityscape, broken only by a children's playground, currently empty owing to the drizzle. The orphanage building itself was red brick, three stories high, and looked large enough to house at least fifty orphans comfortably, perhaps a hundred if they squeezed. Curtained windows looked out onto the street from all three stories, some of which had colourful painted or dyed cloth banners hanging from them. He brushed as much water as he could off his blazer, ran his fingers through his now soaking wet hair to give it at least some semblance of not looking like a disaster, and strode up the driveway, shoes clicking on the wet asphalt.

The front door creaked as it opened, and Draco was greeted by a long hallway with chequered flooring and wood panelling walls. Iron chandeliers with electric bulbs hung at regular intervals, lighting the hall. A white and brown reception desk sat to his right, attended by a slightly overweight muggle woman in her mid 30's, with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and wearing a dark pink blouse. He paused for a moment, confused by the chandeliers, until the woman spoke.

"May I help you?" she asked as the door neatly closed itself behind him.

"Ah, yes, I was told to report here," Draco replied, stepping forward and handing over his now slightly damp probation assignment.

"Right, Mr. Malfoy, we've been expecting you," she said, looking over the document, "my name is Madeline."

She walked out from behind her desk and held out her hand for Draco to shake.

Draco looked at her hand, up at her increasingly uncomfortable smiling visage, and back down to her hand. He cleared his throat.

"Ahh," he managed.

"_Smooth, Draco,"_ he thought.

"Not good with physical contact?" Madeline asked, wiping her hand on her trousers, which Draco noted were those easily identifiable blue styled ones, "that's okay, just follow me, I'll take you to Terry's office."

She set off without seeming to acknowledge the grievous social faux pas he'd just committed. Honestly how had he not mentally prepared himself for having to shake a muggle's hand? On the way to this 'Terry's' office, she prattled on about having something like fifty or sixty kids at any given time. They arrived at a wooden door with a frosted glass window, with the word 'Director' emblazoned in gold and black lettering on the glass. Madeline knocked.

"Come in," a male voice said. Madeline cracked the door open.

"Terry, the new community service worker is here," Madeline said.

"Great, send him in," Terry replied.

Draco entered the office, which really looked more like a study. Several overloaded bookshelves lined the walls, with a comfortable looking chair and reading table set beside one of them. The remainder of the room was dominated by a large wooden desk and two metal filing cabinets. Worn blue carpeting covered the floor. A green desk lamp sat in the centre of the desk, along with a grey boxy contraption of some kind. Behind the desk, a window with venetian blinds, currently raised, looked out onto the rear yard. Terry himself was a man of about Draco's height, with greying brown hair, especially by his temples, perhaps in his mid or late 50's. It was hard to tell with muggles. Draco closed the door behind him as Madeline returned to her post, and this time he extended his hand first, determined to make a good first impression on the director whose favour he needed to avoid a prison sentence.

"Good afternoon sir," he said.

"Welcome to Shady Brook," Terry said, "Terry Macmillian."

"Drake-ehhh, Malfoy," Draco said, doing a fairly good job of butchering the alias he'd been given.

The name Macmillian swam around in his mind for a moment. Then he looked at Terry again, eyes narrowed slightly, searching. This time he discerned a slight resemblance to his former classmate, Ernie. Of course he knew all the families of the sacred twenty-eight and their common physical characteristics like the back of his hand, he just hadn't counted on meeting one here.  
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I know who you are," Terry said, releasing his hand.

"_Well, this just got a whole lot more interesting_," Draco thought.

"I wasn't aware the Macmillians had a- Terry in the family," Draco said, barely catching himself, "is it short for something?"

Calling his, for all intents and purposes, new boss a squib within the first two minutes of meeting him probably wouldn't go over well.

"Terence, not that that will matter," Terry said, sitting down and motioning for Draco to do the same.

"What are you doing out here?" Draco asked, "some undercover assignment for the Ministry?"

"Not exactly. Employment options were limited in magical Britain, owing to a distinct lack of _special _ability on my part," Terry replied.

Draco nodded.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, "I wasn't aware."

"There's a quite a lot you're not aware of, Mr. Malfoy," Macmillian responded, "something you might want to keep in mind a bit more."

Draco nodded.

"Then again, that's probably hypocritical. I don't really keep up with the goings on of the other side," Terry said, "I know there was a war, it was bit hard to miss that, but I don't know the specifics. Whatever you did, whatever you're here for, it doesn't matter to me, so long as you're good to the kids. We can always use the extra funding the Ministry provides us of course, but the help is really what we need. Do a good job with that and I'll write you a positive report."

"I'll do my best sir," Draco said.

"Great," Terry said, standing up, "let me show you around."

"The orphanage is separated on three floors by groups," Terry said, "on the lowest floor are the children who are below school age, and we have several staff on hand to help care for them. Occasionally the older kids will help out as well. We also operate as a day care for working parents to drop their children off, to help with funding."

Draco nodded, peering into one of the windows set into the door. Brightly coloured carpeting covered the floor, their patterns partially obscured by the various toys haphazardly scattered about. Children's drawings adorned the walls, hanging from strips of cork or simply stuck to the concrete. About a dozen muggle children ran about the room or sat in small groups, playing various games, with two female staff monitoring them. He could see an auburn-haired girl about his age wearing some kind of school uniform hugging and talking to a little blonde girl, perhaps five years old. He looked up to see Terry waiting by a stairwell, and broke into a trot to keep up with him.

"The middle floor houses the primary school age children, from age 5 to about 11 or 12, and are overseen by assistant director Stephanie Griggs," he said, "they're all off in classes now."

They continued up another set of stairs, Terry's voice echoing off the walls.

"The top floor houses the secondary school age children, up to age 18, and are overseen by assistant director Pamela Baker," Terry said, "here she is now."

Draco was greeted at the top of the steps by a tall, tanned, athletic woman in her early 30's with long, wavy brown hair, wearing a light white blouse and knee length blue skirt.

"Pam Baker," she said, giving him a dazzling smile, her teeth perfectly straight and white.

"Drake Malfoy," Draco said, shaking her hand. He resisted the urge to wipe it on his trousers. The woman turned to the Director.

"Terry, Mary is downstairs now, she was suspended and sent home from school today," Pam said, "thought you ought to know."

"It's the first week of class!" he said, wiping a hand through his greying hair, "what did she do this time?"

"She didn't say," Pam replied.

"Alright, I'll talk to her," the Director said.

"Thanks Terry," Pam said, "pleasure meeting you Drake."

"Likewise," Draco said.

She continued past them into the stairwell.

"You'll find all our staff are fairly outgoing," Terry said, continuing the tour, "you have to be, to work here. The pay's not great, and we have more kids than we can handle, so the full-time staff we do have are here because they want to be."

They passed by the dormitories, rows of beds in two large rooms, separated by gender. Draco noted there were bars on the windows. Terry continued talking as they descended the stairwells on the opposite side of the building.

"This is the cafeteria annex," he said, "it's where the children take their meals, and you'll take your lunch with them here as well."

Rows of wooden benches were lined up alongside long white tables. The floor had been recently mopped, and was still a bit slippery. The annex looked out to a yard of green grass, and to the playground beyond the wooden fence that marked the edge of the orphanage property.

"Right," Terry said, "that's just about everything, any questions?"

"What exactly will I be doing, sir?" Draco asked.

"Working with the kids," Terry replied as he led the way back to his office, "mostly playing games with the younger ones and ensuring they don't hurt themselves. We do have a few staff on hand but the younger children require more attention, and that's where we need the extra hands. You might occasionally be asked to move or lift something the ladies would have trouble with. Perhaps break up a fight or two between youngsters, nothing serious."

"Alright," Draco said as they reached Terry's office.

"Just to warn you, Drake," Terry said, "the kids are starved for physical attention. We do what we can but nothing can replace a mother and father's affection."

Draco nodded slowly.

"Genuinely try help them out, and we'll get along fine," Terry said, "why don't you head home and get some rest, come back fresh bright and early tomorrow. Any other questions?

"No, no questions sir," Draco replied.

"Excellent," Terry replied, "I trust you can see yourself out."

Draco nodded.

"Yes, thank you sir," he replied, and they shook hands again.

Terry smiled at him then disappeared into his office. Draco walked slowly down the hallway. He was going to have to play with these muggle kids. The thought made his stomach queasy. He didn't know anything about playing with or supervising children, much less muggle children. A door opened just ahead of him and the auburn haired muggle girl he'd seen earlier exited the room and turned towards him. She quirked a confident smirk at him as she passed, then disappeared into Terry's office.

Somehow Draco got himself turned around and found his way to the back yard of the orphanage. Rather than try to navigate his way back through the building, he figured he'd walk around to the front. As soon as he rounded the corner, however, he nearly ran into three young men just standing about and talking near the side of the building. Two of them were on the slim side, while one was a bit stockier. The three turned as one to face Draco.

"Oh, it's just the FNG," the stocky one said. He had a round head and close buzzed red hair and looked to be in his early 20's. He withdrew his hand from behind his back to produce a cigarette and took a drag as the other two visibly relaxed.

"What's your name, new guy?" the smoker asked, puffs of white drifting up out of his mouth as he spoke.

"Drake Malfoy," Draco replied.

"Right," the redhead said, "I'm Darren Welch, this here is Mack Quaid."

He gestured to a skinny fellow in his early 20's with brown hair at the roots, but blond near the tips which fell to about his ears.

"and this is Alan Young."

He pointed with his cigarette at the third guy, a skinny teenager probably barely older than Draco, with short cropped dark hair.

Draco nodded to each of them in turn. He didn't like the vibe they were giving off; his gut twisted with the kind of wariness he felt when walking through Knockturn Alley.

"So what'd you do?" Darren asked, taking another drag.

"Pardon?" Draco asked.

"Posh boy like you ain't gonna work at a place like this voluntarily, are ya, what'd you do?" Darren asked.

"Nothin'" Draco said.

"Yeah, I did nothin' too," Mack chimed in.

"You don't wanna tell us, I reckon that's your business, but we're all in the same boat here, yeah," Darren said, "performin' our 'community service' as punishment. How long you here for?"

"Six months, give or take," Draco replied.

Darren sniffed, he was about to say something but looked up just as Draco heard a scuff behind him.

"Welch, how many times have I told you, no smoking on the grounds," Director MacMillian's voice said.

"Sorry sir, it won't happen again," Darren said, hastily stubbing the cigarette out against the side of the building.

"See that it doesn't," Terry replied, "I need you three to move the equipment back out into the yard, now that it's stopped raining."

With a mumbled "right away sir", Darren, Alan, and Mack walked past Draco and Terry to the rear of the orphanage.

"Drake, I'll see you tomorrow," MacMillian said.

Draco nodded.  
"See you tomorrow sir," Draco replied.

He continued around the side of the building until he passed through the iron fence gate and emerged at the front driveway again. He walked to the street and squinted up at the late afternoon sun as it peeked through the clouds. At least it wasn't raining anymore. He started the hike back to the Leaky Cauldron, but then crossed the street on a whim and started walking in the opposite direction. How in the name of Merlin was he supposed to get through six months of this? He could barely shake a muggle's hand and he was now expected to clean up after a scores of snot nosed muggle spawn? He ran both hands through his hair more than once as he wandered aimlessly, wallowing in his predicament. As the sky grew darker, streetlamps started coming on and both foot and automobile traffic grew heavier. Draco knew the lights weren't magic but they managed to illuminate the streets and walking paths well enough. He couldn't help but be somewhat impressed by what they'd built, all without magic. True, it probably took a hundred of them a month to do what one wizard could in a day, but still, the buildings and the lights were impressive non magic work.

Realization that he was avoiding going home came slowly, but if he were honest with himself, he didn't really care; every minute spent walking around muggle London was one less minute he had to spend between arriving home and going to sleep. He looked up from his ruminations and thought he might be in a familiar area when he passed by the playground adjacent to the orphanage again. At least he wasn't completely lost after wandering aimlessly for an hour or more. He stepped into the empty playground, still damp from the earlier drizzle, and sat down on a swing. The metal of the chain was comfortably cool on his hand, and Draco thought about casting a warming charm, then realized it wouldn't be wise even if he thought nobody was watching. He took off his blazer, folded it neatly across his lap, fingered his wand through the cloth a few times, then buried his forehead in the heels of his palms. His life had completely gone to shite and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

He wasn't sure how long he sat like that when he heard someone sit in the swing next to him. His head snapped up to see the auburn haired girl from the orphanage. She'd changed out of her uniform and was wearing those blue trousers everyone seemed to favour, along with a black leather jacket. Now that he was looking at her closer for the first time, he noticed how delicate she appeared. She wasn't exactly athletic but she was slight of figure, and her eyes were bright and clear blue in the artificial lamps.

"Nice tat," she said.

Draco looked to where her gaze was pointed and instinctively covered his forearm.

"Go away," he said, looking away, "I'm not in the mood to talk."

"You're on _my_ swing, so if anyone should leave it's you," she said.

Draco kicked off a little bit and looked forward, determined to ignore her.

"What is it?" she asked, motioning to the Dark Mark.

Draco sighed, it appeared he wouldn't be able get her to stop talking to him without leaving, and he certainly wasn't going to be chased off by a muggle.

"It's a- mistake," Draco replied.

She nodded and apparently decided to drop the topic.

"I'm Mary," she said, "Mary McKay."

"What are you doing out here, Mary McKay?" Draco asked, determined to not make eye contact.

"It's not quite curfew yet, figured I'd get some air while I can, before they lock me up again," Mary replied, "and now I'm talking to you, a bloke who's sitting on my swing, so rude he won't even tell me his name."

There was a moment of silence.

"Malfoy, Drake Malfoy," Draco replied.

Mary nodded.

"Thought I saw you leave hours ago," she said.

"What's it to you?" Draco asked.

The swing squeaked in its hinges as Mary drifted back and forth a bit.

"Just wondering why anyone would come back here if they didn't have to," Mary said.

Draco refused to answer, despite the thought 'it's better than going home' worming its way through his head, so they simply sat there in silence for another five minutes or so. A chime rang from the orphanage.

"That's my curfew," Mary said, "it was nice to meet you Drake Malfoy. I suppose I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Unfortunately," Draco replied.

"Well aren't you a ray of sunshine," Mary said as she stood up. She caught his eye as she passed in front of him and flashed that cocky smirk again, then walked deliberately back to the orphanage without looking back.

Now thoroughly out of excuses and weary from hiking halfway across London and back, Draco made his way to the Leaky Cauldron, only needing to consult the map once. He tapped his way into Diagon Alley, spun on his heel and apparated home. He crept up to his room, passing by a guest room on the way from which he could faintly hear snores through the cracked door. At least he wouldn't have to deal with mother tonight. His bed called to him, the next morning and tomorrow's activities less so. Draco undressed and took a brief shower to wash off the muggle stink, then laid down. He was still alive, had successfully avoided his mother for the entire day, and currently resided in a bed and not a cell in Azkaban. His last thought before he drifted off to sleep was the realization that his life was now so pathetic, he now considered this a good day.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Chapter 4

Harry stared into emerald eyes that matched his own, and they locked onto his and stared right back. A small gurgling sound was the only warning he received before tiny Teddy Lupin ejected the contents of his previously downed meal all over Harry's face and shirt. Luckily his glasses protected his eyes somewhat, for whatever consolation that was worth. Blindly, he groped for his wand.

"_Evanesco, Evanesco… Evanesco,_" Harry said wearily, vanishing the mess. He could still smell it but there was no point in trying to get rid of that until he could get the baby to actually keep a meal down. Two and a half hours, one enjoyable peek-a-boo session, one exhaustive and very messy nappy change with extensive clean-up and sterilisation, and three failed attempts at feeding had left him thoroughly convinced he was passable at babysitting, but nearly entirely unfit to be a parent.

"Are you just, not hungry perhaps?" Harry asked, holding Teddy up to eye level.

Teddy cooed unhelpfully. It was unlikely; Andromeda had been clear on Teddy's feeding time, which by now had passed nearly half an hour ago.

"Alright, let's try it again," Harry said. He held Teddy in one arm while he prepared another bottle of milk. Zippy's Instant Infant Milk Preparer, a product he had been completely unfamiliar with until a few weeks ago, made it simple. Just add powder and water, and the magical jar took care of the rest. When it was ready, Teddy sucked it down greedily, making slurping noises every now and then. Harry watched as the little boy's hair turned messy and black as he stared at Harry while drinking. Three minutes later and the bottle was empty. Harry held Teddy as the boy twisted his face and whined uncomfortably. Harry could practically sense another imminent round of forceful regurgitation approaching. Just then he heard a pop from outside the front door. Andromeda Tonks walked in and let the screen door bang shut behind her. Just past forty-five years of age, she was still beautiful in an aristocratic way, soft brown curls falling to just below her shoulders. Harry resisted the urge to sigh in relief as she closed and bolted the front door behind her.

"Hello Harry, how's he doing?" Andromeda asked.

"We were having fun earlier but now he doesn't seem to be able to keep anything down," Harry replied.

"Have you tried burping him?" she asked.

"Have I… No, no I haven't," Harry replied. He turned Teddy around, sat him on his lap and started patting him on the back.

"How was it?" Harry asked.

"Excellent," Andromeda replied, as she hung up her grey cloak on a hook near the front door, "thank you for coming over and watching Teddy, having even just a few hours to catch up with old friends makes a world of difference."

"Honestly I feel like I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing," Harry said.

"That's about normal," Andromeda said.

Their conversation was interrupted by a massive belch from the infant, who then burbled happily, as if proud of his accomplishment.

"Whoa, big one," Andromeda said, bending over to lift Teddy up and place him on a colourful playmat on the floor. She wound up a toy stuffed dragon and set it off flying about Teddy's supine form. The little green critter swept down towards the infant and then flapped its wings as it flew away, daring Teddy to try and catch it. It let out a roar that sounded more like a cat's meow as it turned and dove again. Teddy squealed with delight and flailed his arms about, trying to catch it, or at least knock it off course.

"Don't worry about it, like anything else, it comes with practice," Andromeda said, sitting down in a rocking chair adjacent to the couch and crossing her legs.

A pang of guilt shot through Harry.

"Sorry I haven't been able to come by more often," Harry said, "every time I see Teddy I feel like he's grown another inch or two."

"It's alright Harry," Andromeda said, "you do make time to visit, and that's enough, considering all you've got on your plate..."

"I feel like it isn't though," Harry said, "it feels like, I'm expected to be everywhere at once, when all I really want to do is be here for you and Teddy."

"_And Ginny,"_ he thought.

"And that's how I know you'll be a good godfather," Andromeda said, "once things have settled down a little bit."

"Hopefully it won't be too long," he said.

The entire summer seemed to be an endless parade of funerals, memorials, interviews, witness testimony, and summonses by the Ministry or the Unspeakables. That didn't count all of the social calls from people he barely knew, requests for endorsement from aspiring politicians, pleas for donations or fundraising appearances for various charities or rebuilding efforts, demands for restitution from the goblins, even an awards ceremony with the ICW. Individually, each one wasn't that much of a drain on his time, but taken all together he'd been all but overwhelmed by the sheer volume of correspondence and scheduling required.

Unbidden, the illustration from Tales of the Beetle Bard, Ignotus Peverell hiding from Death came to mind, and his thoughts turned to the invisibility cloak currently folded in his pocket. Sometimes, he just wanted to disappear, but he had responsibilities now, and he would do everything in his power to make sure Teddy didn't suffer the same uncertainties about his family as he had. Teddy would know his godfather growing up, and he would make sure Teddy knew Remus and Tonks through him.

"I'll always make time for you and Teddy, Mrs. Tonks," he added.

Andromeda rolled her eyes.

"Honestly Harry, call me Andromeda," she said.

"Sorry, still feels a bit weird," he replied.

They watched the baby play with the toy dragon for a few minutes. Harry looked up at Andromeda to see an expression of love, but also bitterness and steely resolve as she watched her grandson occupy himself. Harry remembered the first time he saw her, confusing her for Bellatrix. It was amazing how two people who looked so much alike could be so different. They had the same dark curls, the same aristocratic nose and high cheekbones, but Andromeda's features were softer. It probably helped she wasn't barking mad, obsessed with a genocidal maniac, with whatever sanity and goodness she might have once possessed destroyed by the dementors of Azkaban.

He moved from the couch to kneel next to Teddy and smoothed the boy's now unruly hair.

"Teddy, I've got to go, I'm starting Auror training tomorrow, so I can help catch the bad people," he said, "but don't worry, I'll be back to visit when I can."

Teddy burbled incoherently but smiled up at Harry, reaching out towards his face.

"He likes you," Andromeda said.

"Good, I like him too," Harry said as he vainly attempted to smooth Teddy's hair, then stood up again.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to stay for tea?" Andromeda asked.

"Sorry," Harry replied, "I'm scheduled to pick up Ron and then we're moving our things to London."

Andromeda nodded. Harry suspected she hadn't really expected him to stay.

"Perhaps next time," he said as he donned a light green parka and stepped to the front door.

"Take care of yourself, Harry," Andromeda said.

"I will," Harry said, "you too, Andromeda, bye Teddy!"

He made sure the screen door closed gently then walked down the three steps to the stone pathway leading up to the cottage, turned, and apparated to Ottery St. Catchpole.

The Burrow looked much the same as it always had from the outside as Harry walked up the garden path, all odd angles and haphazard additions. Fortunately, it was sunny today, but Harry quickly realized that only meant the gnomes were out in force. He kicked at one that tried to bite his shins, but the little creature hopped away and shook its fist at him, shouting something in a language Harry didn't comprehend in the slightest but was almost certain was some kind of obscenity. Apparently, the gnomes hadn't been cleared in far too long. Harry beat a hasty retreat and stepped up to the front door, raising a hand to knock. He hadn't even gotten to the second rap of knuckles before the door was thrown open by Molly Weasley.

"Harry dear, so good to see you," she said, gathering him into a quick crushing embrace, "come in, come in, Ron's just in the kitchen at the moment."

"Good afternoon Mrs. Weasley," Harry said once he'd recovered his breath, stepping across the threshold.

The inside of the Burrow was much as he remembered and yet completely different. The room itself was the same, but the chaos of a house full of redheads was absent and the sitting room was noticeably silent. The Weasleys had been forced to go into hiding during the war, but it had been months since they'd returned. A broom and dustpan absently swept the floor, other pieces of furniture moving themselves out of the way as the charmed sweepers made their way about. Atop the mantle in a glass display case stood Ron's sparkling Order of Merlin, First Class, given a place of honour at the front and centre. The clock with a hand for each family member hung on the wall in the same spot, the hand labelled 'George' pointed firmly at 'Home', along with Ron's and Molly's. Everyone else was either at school or work. Harry noted with a pang of sadness the absence of Fred's hand.

"How is he today?" Harry asked quietly.

"George is… coping, as best he can," Mrs. Weasley said, a half-smile, half-grimace on her face, "as are we all."

Harry nodded.

"If there's anything I can do to help…" Harry said.

"We'll manage," Mrs. Weasley said with a warm smile, "would you like some tea?"

Ron chose that moment to emerge from the kitchen, munching on an apple.

"Hiya mate," he said, mouth only partially full.

He stepped close and gave Harry a long sniff.

"You don't smell like poo this time, I think you might be getting better at this whole godfather thing," Ron said with a smirk, taking another bite.

"Ronald, are you packed yet?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Mostly," Ron replied.

"Harry can help me," he added quickly upon seeing the Weasley matriarch's hands starting to move to her hips, "come on Harry."

"Maybe next time Mrs. Weasley," Harry said.

The two of them bustled up the rickety steps, Ron taking them two at a time until he stopped short so suddenly Harry bumped him from behind. Harry looked up to see George Weasley on the landing. He'd lost significant weight; his clothes, a simple faded green t-shirt and beige slacks with a large brown stain on the front of one leg, hung off of his frame. He was barefoot, and dark shadows coloured the skin under his eyes.

"Heya George, Harry's here," Ron said.

"Could you perhaps not sound like a herd of elephants going up the steps?" George said, "some of us would like a bit of peace and quiet for a change."

"Sorry George," Ron said as his older brother shouldered past the two of them.

They made their way up to Ron's room more slowly after that. 'Almost' packed was apparently code for clothing and various personal items strewn across every available surface, including most of the floor.

"He still blames me?" Harry asked, once they were safely inside with the door closed.

Ron shook his head.

"No. I mean… you know he never really did, right?" Ron replied, "It's just… it's just hard for him."

Harry nodded, frowning.

"He seemed almost back to normal at the shop when I was helping him in the run up to the start of the school year," Ron said, "But now it's quieted down a bit and he's taken some time off…"

Ron trailed off.

"Not much to occupy him," Harry said.

Ron nodded.

"With Ginny back at school now, I feel a bit bad leaving him with just mum and dad, honestly," Ron said, "I mean, I'm not having second thoughts at all.., it's just difficult."

Harry shoved some clothes to one side of the bed and sat down.

"I feel about the same leaving Teddy with Andromeda," Harry said, "but we have at least Sundays off, right? How about we make sure we come back to visit on Sundays. At least until George is a bit better."

"Yeah, good idea Harry," Ron said.

The two packed Ron's trunk in silence for a few minutes, when there was a knock on the door.

"I've made you boys some nibbles," Mrs. Weasley said, opening the door and leading with a platter of quartered white sandwiches.

"Thanks mum," Ron said, quickly grabbing one and devouring half of it in one bite.

"Here's a casserole for you, in case you get hungry," she said, floating a large covered glass bowl into the room, "and a tomato soup, and I made roast turkey as well, also some shepherd's pie, some corned beef, sausages, and peach cobbler, and apple pie, and chocolate pudding."

As she listed off each item they floated into the room and neatly stacked themselves next to Ron's trunk until the stack threatened to fall over.

"Honestly mum, I'm going to be back on Sunday," Ron said.

"Oh, just eat what you like then," Molly said, "come give your mother a hug."

She held her arms open.

"Mum!" Ron said, but there was no escape as he was enveloped.

"I can't believe my little Ronnie-kins is all grown up," Molly said as she pulled Ron's taller frame down to her, "seems like just yesterday I was changing your nappies."

Ron gave Harry a pleading look but Harry just gave a tiny shake of his head, declining to offer any assistance.

"Mum, I'll be back in a few days, honest," Ron said, patting her on the back and trying to extricate himself, to no avail.

"And now look at you, Order of Merlin, First Class, off to join the Aurors. Just be careful when you're hunting down dark wizards," Mrs. Weasley said, holding tighter, "please, be careful, don't do anything too rash, Ronald Weasley, make sure you come home."

There was a brief pause, and Harry could palpably sense the mood changing..

"Alright mum," Ron said quietly, now holding his mother gently, "I'll come home."

"And you too Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, gesturing for him to join the hug, which he did, "you two take care of each other."

"We will Mrs. Weasley. We're just going to be training at first," Harry said.

Molly Weasley nodded as she released the two young men.

"And even when we're done, we'll have the whole Auror department on our side," Harry continued.

"I know, it's…," she said, sighing.

"I love you mum," Ron said, taking the initiative this time and pulling her into a hug one more time.

"I love you too Ronald," Mrs. Weasley said, only hugging him briefly before pulling back first.

"Now that's settled," she said, wiping an eye with a handkerchief, "let's get the rest of these things packed."

With Mrs. Weasley's help, they had everything remaining shrunk and secured neatly in Ron's trunk in under a minute, and then it was another minute before they were standing by the fireplace.

"Grimmauld Place," Harry said, tossing the floo powder. The flames roared and turned green.

"So that's it then, no goodbye?" George asked from the doorway to the kitchen.

"George," Ron said, eyebrows shooting up.

George just shook his head and ignored them as he walked to the staircase, then stomped his way up to the second-floor landing. The sound of a slamming door echoed down the steps, followed by a long pause.

"You boys better get going," Mrs. Weasley said, breaking the silence, "you have a big day tomorrow and you'll need your rest. Let us worry about George."

"Thanks mum," Ron said, "we'll come visit soon."

Harry nodded, figuring there wasn't much he could say at the moment, and stepped through the flames.

Harry spun and twisted through the floo network, losing all orientation and sense of balance so that when he was spit out of the fireplace at Grimmauld he banged his knee on the stone floor, narrowly missing the carpet.

"_Of course,"_ he thought.

Grimacing, he got out of the way just in time as Ron came through, hefting his trunk in both hands.

"Lights," Harry said, and small globes of luminescence set near the ceiling brightened up the room. Gone were the mounted elf heads, the troll leg umbrella stand, the tapestries, and pretty much everything else that might hint that this was once the home of an ancient wizarding family with a well-deserved reputation for frequently dabbling in the Dark Arts. The worn carpeting had been replaced by faux Persian rugs, the wood flooring had been sanded and polished, and much of the furniture was new as well, giving the old house a cosy, welcoming atmosphere.

"Certainly looks a bit different than the last time I was here," Ron said, looking around.

"I can't really take credit, this is mostly Kreacher following Ginny's direction, whenever he wasn't off Merlin knows where," Harry said, "and IKEA catalogues."

Ron looked confused for a moment and looked like he was about to ask a question when the Kreacher appeared with a soft pop.

"Master Harry has returned," Kreacher said.

"Hello Kreacher," Harry said, "bring Ron's trunk to the kitchen, please. We need to offload a few things."

Kreacher bowed deferentially and levitated the trunk in question to the kitchen without a word.

Ron walked over to one of the couches, forest green with several pillows of various colours spread out at even intervals and a yellow blanket draped across the back, and sat down.

"Firm, but I reckon it'll be quite comfortable once it's broken in," Ron said.

"The cushions chafe a bit," Harry mumbled.

"Sorry?" Ron asked.

"The cushions don't perfectly fit," Harry replied without missing a beat, "it's cheap junk really but it's better than what was here before."

Ron slouched down, spread his arms out across the sofa back, stretched his legs out, looked up at the ceiling, and puffed out his cheeks as he let out a long breath.

"Seems fine to me," Ron said, "don't get me wrong mate, I love my family, but it must be nice to have your own place."

"For all I get to see it," Harry said, "honestly I think I may have spent less than twenty waking hours here all summer. But yeah, it is nice. Truthfully, it's good you're here, place would be a bit lonely with just me and Kreacher."

Ron's stomach chose that moment to give a growl.

"Speaking of Kreacher, think we can get him to put out some of that food my mum packed?" Ron asked.

Harry chuckled and nodded as they both made their way to the kitchen. A few minutes later and they were both enjoying a bit of Molly's turkey roast off fine china and the Black family silverware.

"Wish we could have done this with Hermione and Ginny," Harry said.

"Don't worry mate," Ron said, "we'll have a proper housewarming…. house-remodelling… party over Christmas holidays."

Harry grinned at that and nodded. They fell into eating their dinner in silence.

"You ready for tomorrow?" Harry asked.

Ron nodded.

"After the last twelve months, how hard could it be?" Ron asked.

They both turned in not long after eating and awoke early the next morning, well before the sun rose. After checking to make sure Ron was awake, Harry took a cold shower to try and shock himself into alertness, with only marginal success. He dressed in simple black wizard's robes and muggle trainers, and levitated his trunk down to the fireplace to join Ron who was already waiting for him.

"Hopefully it'll be empty at this hour," Harry said, grabbing a handful of floo powder.

Ron nodded with a stifled yawn.

"Ministry of Magic," Harry said, tossing the powder in.

Fortunately, this time he managed to keep from completely losing his balance as he entered the nearly deserted Ministry floo foyer. The lone ministry worker he saw, a young man in his early 30's perhaps, probably heading into work early, either didn't recognize him or didn't care who he was, a welcome change of pace. The fireplace behind him flared again as Ron stepped through and the pair of them walked the long hallway to the Atrium towards Ministry reception beyond the memorial. Harry had been through here numerous times in the past few months but never when it was so empty. The background noise of the fountain trickling water drowned out the sound of their footsteps, and gave the entire Atrium a sense of peace and tranquillity. They walked straight up to the reception desk, skirting around the reflecting pool and the knuts and sickles shining up from the depths. The night receptionist, a short, balding middle-aged man with a paunchy gut looked up from his magazine with a dull stare. The little man's eyes made the familiar flick to Harry's scar and back to his face; his eyes widened and he sat up straight, tossing his magazine aside.

"Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, here for Auror training," Harry said. He could practically hear Ron grinning over his shoulder.

"Certainly, Harry Potter, err, Mr. Potter," the receptionist said, "um, I'll need your wands please."

Harry produced his holly and phoenix feather wand and turned it over, and with Ron following suit. Much as he knew he was supposed to be safe inside the Ministry, he always felt a bit naked without his wand. Especially considering what had happened here. His eyes flicked around the Atrium.

"_Dumbledore duelled Voldemort right there,_" he thought, "_and blocked a killing curse there, and another one there._ _And right there is where I hit Lestrange…._"

…"You need to _mean _them, Potter!"

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is on level 2," the little man said, snapping Harry out of his reverie, "sorry, I'm sure you knew that. They're expecting you."

The receptionist handed them both visitor badges which affixed themselves neatly on the left side of their chests.

"Good luck Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley," the receptionist said.

"Thanks," Ron and Harry replied before levitating their trunks over to the lifts.

The doors opened and they stepped in.

"Think we might have just made that bloke's day," Ron said with a grin.

"Yeh," Harry replied, no smile on his face.

They exited the lift as the chipper voice declared 'Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement'. The Auror headquarters were around the corner and down the hall from the lift, and both Harry and Ron knew the way fairly well by now. The heavy oak double doors leading to the Auror headquarters were open, the signage above them barely visible in the gloom. They still hadn't encountered anyone, so Harry pressed on through the short hallway and came to a room filled with cubicles on one side and dark offices on the other. There must have been over a hundred cubicles and several of them had magical orbs glowing above, indicating at least some of the Aurors had come in early, or perhaps worked the night shift.

"Hello?" Ron said.

A head out of the top of the cube farm.

"Potter? Weasley?" the Auror asked, "Dawlish wants you in his office, end of the hall, that way."

Harry and Ron made their way past the cubicles, past the receptionist's desk and to the one office with light streaming out of the open door onto the stained carpet. The sign proclaimed 'John Dawlish, Head Auror', and the man himself was seated at his large wooden desk reading over a document. The desk was absolutely overflowing with parchment and pictures, some of which had spilled onto the floor. A large bulletin board sat on one wall with small photographs pinned to it, and on the opposite wall was a map of Great Britain with coloured thumbtacks identifying various locations. Dawlish looked up at the newcomers, his piercing blue eyes seeming to see right through them. He was a solidly built, if middle aged man, his once brown hair now streaked with grey, and crow's feet around his eyes.

"Potter, Weasley, is it 6am already?" he asked.

"Not quite sir," Harry replied, "it's about five 'til."

Dawlish sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then stood up.

"Come in, have a seat," he said, then looked to the chairs, which were also covered in papers.

Quickly he conjured another, smaller desk and levitated the papers off the chairs and onto the conjured furniture. Another page fluttered to the floor but he didn't bother retrieving it. Harry and Ron deposited their trunks inside the door and entered the office, shaking Dawlish's hand before they sat down. The man had heavy bags under his eyes, and his robes were open near the top. Add to that the entire empty pot of coffee which sat on his desk, and it was a good bet he'd worked through the night.

"I wanted to welcome you personally to the Auror training program," Dawlish said, "I know we've had our differences in the past but I'm hoping we can put all that behind us. If you've got anything you want to say to me, now's the time to do it."

Harry looked over at Ron to find him staring right back at him.

"If you're referring to the bit where you were Head Auror during Voldemort's rule, I'm pretty sure that's water under the bridge," Harry said.

"Yeah," Ron added, "what was it, seven muggleborn Aurors you helped escape the purges?"

"Seven, yes," Dawlish said, "not a day went by I didn't think about resigning, but no doubt it would have been worse with someone else in charge. Now that that mess is over, there's a whole other doxy swarm to deal with."

He gestured around the cluttered office.

"In case you hadn't noticed, we're critically understaffed," Dawlish said, "I know both of you have plenty of employment options outside of law enforcement, so you have my gratitude for deciding to join us."

Ron and Harry shared another glance.

"Sir, Harry and I are targets whether we like it or not. We figure helping hunt down the rest of Riddle's followers before they can come after us, or Hermione, or anyone close to us is where we can help the most," Ron said.

Dawlish nodded.

"We could definitely use it, the less Death Eaters running around the better, but so long as you're under my command, you follow orders," Dawlish said, "running off half-cocked will only get good people killed, and you don't want that on your conscience."

"Yes sir, we understand," Harry said, "and thank you sir for letting us waive our NEWT requirements. I'm not sure going back to Hogwarts for another year would have been the best thing for anyone."

Dawlish nodded in acknowledgement.

"The sooner we can get you into the field, the better," Dawlish said, "that being said, there are some aspects of training you'd just be a liability without. For example, when you're legally allowed to use force, and how much."

Ron and Harry nodded.

"Arresting someone and bringing them in only to have them go free on a technicality doesn't do anyone any good," Dawlish said, "the normal Auror training program is three years, but given you two evaded practically the entire country for the better part of a year, and fought against marked Death Eaters, I'm putting you on a trial accelerated program, joining a group of trainees already most of the way through the standard program."

He pressed a button on his desk.

"Mackenzie, come into my office please," he said.

Dawlish looked back to Ron and Harry.

"Lieutenant Aaron Mackenzie will be your trainer, he'll put you through your paces and have ultimate discretion as to whether you're field ready," Dawlish said, "are there any questions?"

"How long is the accelerated program?" Ron asked.

"That depends on you," Dawlish said, "Lieutenant Mackenzie will determine your readiness, here he is now."

Harry and Ron stood up to face the door. Aaron Mackenzie stood in the doorway, dressed in Auror style robes, dark green to designate his role as a trainer. He was tall and fit, if a bit on the slim side, and looked to be in his late 30's or so, with dark brown hair curling about the nape of his neck. A narrow hawk-nose dominated his features as he briefly looked down at Harry and Ron then past them to Dawlish.

"Good morning sir," Mackenzie said.

"Mackenzie, these are your new trainees, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley," Dawlish said, "Potter, Weasley, Lieutenant Aaron Mackenzie."

"Good morning sir," Harry said, echoing Mackenzie and stepping forward to offer his hand.

Mackenzie's handshake was firm, and his fingers were long; they almost wrapped completely around Harry's hand. The trainer was nearly a foot taller than Harry as well, so much so that Harry had to almost crane his neck to make eye contact. Mackenzie shook Harry's hand first, and then Ron's.

"Mackenzie, they're all yours," Dawlish said, "weekly progress reports, please."

"Yes sir," Mackenzie said.

"Dismissed," Dawlish said, "good luck."

Mackenzie nodded.

"Follow me," Mackenzie said, turning and exiting towards the main lifts.

Ron and Harry hurried to levitate their trunks again and had to trot to keep up with Mackenzie, who was already waiting for them inside the lift by the time they got there. He led them back through the no longer deserted but still sparsely populated Atrium to Reception, where they retrieved their wands. The portly receptionist gave them a thumbs-up as they departed. From there, Mackenzie led them to the fireplaces.

"Auror training ground C," Mackenzie said, tossing in a handful of floo powder.

Ron and Harry followed close behind. They exited the fireplace (Harry managed to keep his balance this time, wonders never ceased) into a small, bare wooden hut whose only purpose seemed to be to house the floo fireplace. Mackenzie opened the door into the grey early morning light, and the two trainees followed him wordlessly. In front of them stood a running track complete with grassy field in the centre of it, and what looked like floating quidditch training obstacle rings and barriers above. To the left of the track stood several squat single-story buildings of varying sizes, all wooden and built in a similar fashion as the hut they'd just left. Fitted stone paths led to the doorways of the buildings, and manicured dew-covered grass covered the rest of the grounds. To the right of the track, large trees of old growth forest stretched up towards the sky, a few leaves just barely showing the first hint of yellow. Beyond the track lay what looked like an obstacle course of some kind; it was difficult to make out details due to the light fog covering the grounds. Mackenzie led the way directly to the running track.

"Leave your trunks there," Mackenzie said, motioning to the side of the track, "have you had breakfast this morning?"

"Not really," Ron replied, letting his trunk down gently.

"Bad luck," Mackenzie said, "let's get started with a 5k run."

"What, right now?" Ron asked.

Mackenzie drew his wand from an arm holster and cast a wordless spell which created a glowing set of numbers in mid-air. Seconds started ticking up from zero.

Harry began stripping off his outer robes.

"Leave them on," Mackenzie said, "Aurors wear robes."

"Yes sir," Harry said, pulling them back on.

"Couldn't we just-OW!" Ron said as Mackenzie fired a mild stinging hex at his backside.

Harry immediately started running, looking over his shoulder to make sure no hexes were coming his way.

"Guess we know who's the smart one," Mackenzie said with a smirk as he fired another stinging hex at Ron, who twisted out of the way.

"Faster, Weasley, Potter's getting a lead on you," Mackenzie said, firing off three more stinging hexes at Ron's feet, "wands out! Run!"

Ron danced away and all but sprinted to catch up to Harry, one hand rubbing his bum and the other pulling out his wand. After the 5k, it was push-ups, followed by a series of wind sprints, followed by squats, followed by another 2k run. The sun burned away what remained of the fog as Mackenzie drove them farther and faster. By midmorning, Harry and Ron both dripped sweat, their robes and clothing near soaked. His wand was slippery in his hand, and Harry's arms and legs burned from both the heat of the day and the exertions his body wasn't used to. He bent over, panting, struggling to regain his breath after yet another set of wind sprints.

"Wands up," Mackenzie called.

Harry looked up to see a pair of yellow targets hovering at chest height about fifty feet away.

"Stinging hex, hit the targets," Mackenzie called, "three…two…one."

Harry's arm shook as he fired off a hex at the left target, while Ron took the right. Both of the targets turned red as the hexes sailed wide.

"Congratulations, you just killed two hostages," Mackenzie said.

Harry's shoulders slumped as he panted, bent over again, hands on knees. He couldn't even summon up the energy to be annoyed.

"Twenty more push-ups, and then a five minute break," Mackenzie said.

Harry finished the push-ups far slower than the first set he'd done earlier in the day, then flopped onto his back in the grass, eyes closed and mouth open, arms spread out to each side, just revelling in the sensation of the warm sun on his face and of _not_ moving for a moment. He willed his breaths to deepen and slow, and he could hear Ron gasping to his right, probably in a similar position. Harry's brain swam around a bit looking for some kind of quip or remark to make but it just wasn't really cooperating. His stomach protested at him and he deeply regretted leaving the house without eating anything.

"Are we sure Mackenzie isn't a Death Eater in disguise, trying to kill us via calisthenics?" Ron asked.

Ah, there was the quip.

"No," Harry replied, "no I couldn't confirm that for you right now Ron."

Harry propped himself up into a reclined sitting position, only to see a large bald man, perhaps in his late 40's, wearing blue Auror robes, walking up to Mackenzie at the side of the track.

"Morning Aaron," the large man said.

"Lester," the trainer said stiffly.

"That's Captain Robards to you, now, Mackenzie," Robards said.

"Sorry, good morning Captain, what can I do for you?" Mackenzie asked.

"Here to see the new trainees," Robards replied, looking their way, "they look like shit."

"It's their first day," Mackenzie replied.

"That's not an excuse," Robards said, "Potter, on your feet, Weasley, over here."

Robards strode across the track and onto field as Harry dragged himself to his feet. Ron looked like he would have preferred to crawl over or perhaps roll over to Mackenzie but pulled himself up instead and managed to only stumble once on the way to the edge of the track. Harry watched as Robards approached him, and something about the deliberateness of the way the Auror was walking tipped him off. Robards drew his wand in a flash and fired off a wordless cutting curse at Harry but he was ready, deflecting it skyward with a wordless _protego_.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Harry shouted as he dodged to the side, pushing against the protests of his muscles, firing off a red beam towards Robards.

"Really Potter?" Robards said as he didn't even need to sidestep.

Behind him Harry could see Ron aiming at Robards' back but Mackenzie grabbed the trainee's arm and whispered into his ear. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and Harry tried to shake off the exhaustion of their recent exertions as he dodged or blocked a seemingly endless stream of wordless hexes and curses spewing from the tip of Robards' wand. The grass of the field was torn up and chunks of dirt went flying, kicked up by the curses which missed or were deflected by Harry, but as exhausted as he was, there was no opening for Harry to counter attack, and no cover in the field to hide behind. Eventually he was reduced to holding a shield spell up against the barrage, but that only lasted for a few seconds.

"_Bombarda,"_ Robards said, blasting a small crater to Harry's left. The debris from the explosion forced Harry to drop his shield and duck to one side.

"_Incarcerous," _Robards said, and thin cords sprung out of his wand to bind Harry's arms and legs, "_Petrificus Totalus. Levicorpus."_

Harry, completely unable to move, was flung into the air by his ankle, his robes falling partially over his face. Blood rushed to his head as he spun lazily in the air. His mind raced for a way out; there was no way he could _finite_ these spells wordlessly.

"How in the world did someone like you ever defeat You-Know-Who?" Robards asked, rotating Harry around to face him.

"That's enough, Lester," Mackenzie called.

"Why don't you go fetch Weasley's robes or something and let the real Auror finish his evaluation," Robards replied over his shoulder.

The Auror Captain turned back to look Harry in the eye, a mistake, because Harry still held his wand. He couldn't move, and it was at an awkward angle, but it was close enough.

"_Legilimens!"_ Harry thought with all his might as he pushed his consciousness into Robards'. It was a wordless use of the ability and Harry wasn't very accomplished, but he got flashes of images and feelings, Robards threatening or berating Mackenzie in one of the Auror offices, a strong sense of frustration, guilt, anger, disdain, an urge to take the celebrated Boy-Who-Lived down a notch, to prove he was a fraud. It couldn't have been more than a second or two before Robards pushed him out with a growl and Harry found himself staring him in the eye again.

"Twat," the bald man said, "_Depulso!"_

With a bang, the world spun, alternating between a blur of blue and white sky and the green grass of the field as the banishing charm sent Harry, already suspended in the air, tumbling end over end. The incarcerous cords were gone and Harry instinctively tried to tuck his head and legs in, but found the Full-Body-Bind still very much in effect. He mentally prepared himself for a great deal of pain on impact as he frantically tried to wordlessly cast a cushioning charm.

_Molliare! Molliare! Molliare!_

It wasn't working. Harry tried to squeeze his eyes shut but the bind prevented it.

"_Molliare!",_ Ron yelled from a distance, and Harry the world stopped spinning suddenly with a view of perfectly cut manicured green grass no more than an inch away. The blades beneath him swayed in a puff of exhaled breath before the cushioning charm released him to fall on his face.

There were a few words spoken, too far away from him to hear, then the sound of footsteps approaching.

"_Finite,"_ Ron said, and Harry was able to move again.

Harry pushed himself up to a sitting position and all he could see were a few fuzzy shapes of green and blue, and a roughly Ron-shaped shadow.

"You okay mate?" Ron asked.

"_Accio glasses_," Harry said.

His glasses zoomed from at least twenty feet away into his outstretched hand, and Harry slipped them on, bringing the world back into focus.

"Yeah, thanks," he said, holding out a hand.

Ron pulled him up to his feet and Harry looked around. They were near the centre of the field, maybe thirty meters from the bombarda crater. Robards was nowhere to be seen and Mackenzie stood watching from about five meters away. On the far side of the fence separating the track from the squat buildings a group of four people stood watching, leaning against the fence, two men and two women, from what Harry could tell at this distance.

"Alright Potter?" Mackenzie asked.

Harry looked at the trainer in disbelief.

"What exactly is his problem?" Harry asked.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with," Mackenzie replied.

Harry's brain stuttered at the absurdity of this statement, seeing as he'd nearly been seriously injured a few minutes prior.

"Are you mad?" Ron asked, "he could've killed Harry just now, and why wouldn't you let me stop him, he clearly went too far!"

"Trust me, it would have just been worse," Mackenzie said, "if you'd attacked him from behind, he probably would have tried to get you expelled from the program. I'll um… handle Robards, you two take your trunks to the barracks and start going through the SOP manuals. We start again tomorrow at 0600."

Ron seemed to be at a loss for words. Or perhaps several words were competing for priority. Harry could tell he was on the verge of an explosion.

"It's okay Ron, forget it," Harry said.

Instantly Ron clamped his mouth shut as he got the hint; they'd talk about it privately later.

"Hey Potter! Way to land on your face!" one of the men called from the fence.

Harry felt his cheeks heating up as Mackenzie left them to walk towards the group.

"Harry I just realized something," Ron said, "Mackenzie said barracks, and barracks means beds."

Bed sounded fantastic.

"Brilliant," Harry replied, trying to put the thought that he'd been thoroughly embarrassed in front of some his future peers out of his head, "and people say Hermione's the brains of our little trio. Bloody genius, Ron."

He started making for their trunks at top speed, which at this point was more of a fast hobble. They levitated their belongings and made their way along the paths to the squat buildings. A helpful signpost pointed out the location and distance of various buildings and they were able to find the barracks without an issue. It was a rectangular room, and wood, like the rest of the buildings. Six beds in all sat against the walls on either side, brown sheets neatly tucked in. Windows were set above the head of each of the beds, and currently all were open to help air out the cabin. A few posters hung from the walls above the beds, next to or under the windows. All but the two farthest from the entrance had trunks already placed at the foot of them. An adjoining set of shower stalls and toilets sat connected to the far side of the room. Identical stacks of books sat on the two unoccupied beds closest to the bathroom. Ron and Harry made their way to their beds, and Harry immediately took the one on the left while Ron stopped halfway through the room to look at one of the posters on the right.

"Hey, this bloke's a Cannons fan," Ron said, inspecting the poster above the bed, replaying an orange clad player pulling off a Speelman Steal.

"Brilliant," he said with a grin.

"Brilliant," Harry agreed.

After setting his trunk down, Harry pulled out some clean clothes and robes and a towel, and made his way to the showers. The floors and walls here were covered with rough tile to prevent slipping, and the stalls had doors on them for privacy. Harry set his wand in the holder on the inside of the stall and turned on the spray. The hot water splashed over his sore muscles, and he had to suppress a sigh. He'd meant to take a quick one but the soothing near scalding water just felt so damn good he lingered a few minutes. After towelling off and dressing, he returned to his bed to flip through the manuals quickly while Ron finished up his shower. There were several books of varying thickness: The 1998 Auror's Manual Standard Operating Procedures, How Not to Be Seen: Being the Chameleon, Disguise: More Than Skin Deep, and Advanced Tracking and Shadowing. Clearly, if he thought his days of studying were over when he chose not to return to Hogwarts, he was sorely mistaken. Ron emerged from the shower, still towelling his hair, and cast a quick _mufflatio. _

"What did you want to tell me earlier?" Ron asked.

"Right," Harry said, "I was able to get a bit of legilimency off on Robards, while I was upside down. He's thinks I'm a fraud, wants to, I don't know, prove I'm not… worthy or something."

Ron frowned.

"Ungrateful son of a bitch," Ron said, "where's he get off, attacking you out of nowhere…"

"I don't know, somehow it's personal with him, not sure why," Harry said, "also there's some history between him and Mackenzie, I didn't see what."

"I didn't need legilimency to notice that," Ron said, "Mackenzie was legitimately afraid of him, said he wouldn't be able to protect me from getting tossed if I cursed Robards in the back."

Harry hmm'ed and thought back. He grabbed a fist full of bedsheet and punched his fist lightly into the mattress.

"I'm actually really annoyed that he tried to embarrass me on my first day," Harry said, "livid, actually."

"I've got to say Harry, you're handling it pretty well," Ron said.

Harry recalled the past, how often he'd flown off the handle. Sure, part of that could have been attributed to a piece of Voldemort being stuck in his head, but not all of it.

"Grown up a bit I suppose," Harry said, "all those months restraining myself from hexing journalists asking stupid provocative questions and smiling for the cameras when all I wanted to do was punch something."

Ron smirked.

"Do you reckon you could have taken him, if you weren't, you know, half dead from running laps?" Ron asked.

Harry pursed his lips in thought.

"I don't know, he was quick, and he wasn't really using any of the really powerful or Dark curses… but I'm sure as hell not going to take this lying down," Harry said, "I'm going to train my arse off. He'll be in for a surprise the next time he tries something like that. You with me?"

"Fuck yeah," Ron said, "but first things first, let's find the cafeteria."


	5. Chapter 5

Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Chapter 5

Bellatrix sat alone in the boat as it steered itself across the inky waters of the Lake which bore her family name. The gentle rocking and sound of the small waves lapping against the prow calmed her nerves as the lit towers of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry came into view. The castle was the same as she remembered from her seventh year, from which she'd very nearly but never actually properly graduated. This trip had been a long time coming. It had taken Kreacher's help, the spells she'd discovered in the sub-vault, and a great deal of planning and manoeuvring (and a few well-placed _confundus_ curses) to scrape together a new identity, academic transcript, and enough galleons to pay for a year of tuition. It would all be worth it though. After she'd woken up and discovered thirty-odd years had passed, and both she(?) and the love of her life had been killed, her first instinct had been to charge right out and do... something. Thankfully, the old house-elf had stopped her, convinced she'd be hunted down and Kissed if she left the manor grounds and started blasting everything in sight. He begged her not to go, said he couldn't bear the thought of losing her again. The creature's (Being, technically, but whatever) devotion was disconcerting to say the least, but she had been convinced.

Thus had begun months of catching up on recent history and current events, whatever she could piece together from the combination of backdated Daily Prophets, 'history' books, and what snippets of news the decrepit house elf could or would bring her. Apparently, the world thought her completely barking mad, and she'd been imprisoned in Azkaban for over a decade. This was odd, because she certainly didn't _feel _insane. Once she had formed a semi-decent picture of (more or less) what'd happened, she began planningfrom that accursed sub-vault, plotting her revenge. As the weeks passed, the burning rage turned into a bubbling simmer, and slowly, a plan came together. She would destroy the Golden Trio, Ronald Weasley, the mudblood Hermione Granger, and especially Harry Potter, the so-called Boy-Who-Lived, who had defeated… well… from what she recalled, he hadn't been her true love yet, but based on what she'd read, she had been well on her way. He'd even come back from the dead once, probably for her, and now she had returned to life for him, it was poetic. She had to be very careful though, oh so very careful, before trying to resurrect him (again). She had to take Potter out first, and to do that she had to get close to him, gain his confidence, learn his weaknesses and secrets. The only problem was there was no way she could manage extended time in front of him to gain that confidence. In fact, all three of them were constantly on the move; Granger had seemingly vanished off the face of the earth, and Weasley and Potter were constantly popping up randomly at some function or interview or other, then retreating from public view again. The best way then to get close to Potter was through his girlfriend, the younger sister of Ronald Weasley. She was on the Gryffindor quidditch team, and Bellatrix had spent many nights practicing her broomwork above the ruined foundations of her destroyed ancestral home in a bid to get onto the same team. Get close to Ginny Weasley, get close to Harry Potter and the Golden Trio. Then eventually, eventually an opportunity would present itself to take all three of them out at once. Only then would she be free to search for a way to bring her true love back to life.

One thing was clear: Harry Potter had found a way to survive even the Killing Curse. She couldn't make a single mistake in hunting her quarry; if even half the stories were true, he was no doubt one of the most dangerous wizards alive.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the boat nudging into the sandy shore of the cave beneath the castle. Most of the other students had already disembarked, so she double checked her disguise, made sure her occlumency shields were firmly in place, and stepped onto the sandy beach. Filius Flitwick, the famed duelling champion, stood atop a set of steps leading up to the doors at the entrance to the castle. He was a bit longer in the tooth than she recalled, but still easily recognizable.

"_If not for the steps, nobody'd be able to see him," _she thought to herself with a smirk.

"Good evening, first years and transfer students. In a moment, the doors will open, and the start of term feast will begin, but first, you will be called to sit before your classmates and be Sorted," Flitwick said.

"_Ugh," _she thought, "_get on with it."_

He spoke for another minute about the houses and the what it meant to be Sorted, and then at last the doors opened. The half-goblin led the way into the Great Hall, the enchanted ceiling lit by glowing candles. The first years followed close behind him, staring around in wonder. They were closely followed by the transfer students, some of whom had the wherewithal to not gape like codfish. The Headmistress stood at a podium as the students to be Sorted lined up, about half of them first-years and the rest transfer students roughly evenly distributed across the years. One thing Bellatrix noted as she walked through the Great Hall was the Slytherin table had perhaps half the number of students as any of the other tables, though none of the four looked like they would be anywhere near full by the end of the Sorting. After herding the students towards the front of the Hall, Flitwick climbed atop a small platform in front of the head table, and waited.

The Sorting hat sat on a stool and as the Hall fell silent, a crease in the Hat opened up to form something which vaguely resembled a mouth, and the artefact began to sing:

_Every year for centuries and more, _

_I've Sorted into Houses, raised by Founding Four,_

_This year seems quite different, for such imbalance has never existed, _

_Not for the year just passed, and certainly not before._

_Heed my words, for I am the Sorting Hat. Pay attention now, you may learn some more,_

_Ah, these brave and loyal and clever and cunning souls,_

_You are all more alive than these ragged folds, _

_but I am more than simple fabric and mould. _

_Time heals, but not all wounds, and scars can last an age,_

_Beware, these reminders of the past can forge your future cage,_

_We must learn to lean together, or surely grow apart, _

_Some might choose another path, to seek the loving heart,_

_For now's the time for second chances, or to again take trail most worn,_

_Surely there is risk in forging, but also where greatest strengths take form,_

_Alas, I am just a Hat, and I cannot choose for you all,_

_Take heed my words: Learn to stand together, or surely we all will fall._

The hat fell silent, the ominous last few bars echoing through the Great Hall. Flitwick started calling students up to be Sorted, beginning with the first-years. Since her alias was near the end of the alphabet, and she was probably the oldest transfer student, she'd figured she'd probably be last.

One by one, the students sat and were Sorted. Some took longer than others, but fairly soon a trend was obvious. _Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw…_

Not one Slytherin, not until a little blonde boy named Peter Samuel whose legs barely reached the second rung of the stool he sat on.

"_Slytherin!"_ the hat called after a good two minutes.

Where there had been enthusiastic applause for each of the other students, there was only a smattering of claps for Peter. The forlorn child sat there and shook his head, refusing to take the hat off.

"Mr. Samuel, please sit with your house," Flitwick said, but poor Peter was frozen, eyes wide and staring at all the students staring back at him. A tittering of laughter started somewhere in the hall and threatened to grow.

Then a blonde girl, one of the only seventh year Slytherins at the table, stood up from the back of the Hall, prefect badge gleaming on her green and silver trimmed robes. She strode the length of the long table as the whispers grew.

"Tracey Davis," whispered one of the Hufflepuffs next to Bellatrix.

Tracey took Peter by the hand, helped him down, placed the hat back on the stool, and steered him towards the Slytherin table. A second-year boy patted him on the shoulder as he sat down and Peter Samuels buried his face in his hands while Tracey returned to her seat in the back.

"Thank you, Miss Davis," Flitwick said, and the Sorting resumed.

There was only one more Slytherin among the first years, a tiny dark-haired girl named Allison Wong.

"Now that the first years have been Sorted, we have, for the first time in over a century, accepted transfer students," Flitwick said, "Bennet, Wendy."

The transfer students started with the second years, but Bellatrix's gaze was focused across the Hufflepuffs on the Gryffindor table, searching for the older redhead she knew should be there. She thought it would be easy to find her; the unsettling possibility that Ginny Weasley was not at Hogwarts this year caused her heart rate to increase slightly and her robe to become uncomfortably warm. A lot of effort would have come to naught if she wasn't here. Finally, she spotted her, across from what appeared to be another 7th year whose back was to Bellatrix. She'd missed Ginny earlier because the student's massive bush of a hairstyle was in the way and Bella only spotted the redhead once she moved up the queue and changed her angle.

"_Wait, could that be Granger?_" she thought.

"White, Julia," Flitwick said.

Snapping her attention back to the front at the sound of her alias, Bellatrix strode up to the stool, picked up the mouldy hat, sat down, and pulled it onto her head. Almost immediately, a foreign consciousness filled her mind, completely ignoring her occlumency.

_Oh my, you're a familiar one, I dare say we've met before._

"_Say Gryffindor," _Bellatrix thought.

_But you've hatched this ingeniously cunning plan, surely you belong in-_

"_Don't say it," _Bellatrix thought.

_But it's where you were before! I couldn't possibly Sort you into a different house. _

"_What was that you were just singing about taking another path?" _Bellatrix thought.

_Touché. _ _Alright then, I see here you consider yourself incredibly clever and witty. What about… _

"_Don't say it. And it's not that I'm incredibly clever, I'm just surrounded by morons most of the time,"_ Bellatrix thought.

She suspected she heard a snorting sound coming from the Hat.

"_Say Gryffindor," _she thought.

_Wouldn't you rather be a Hufflepuff? Nobody ever suspects a Hufflepuff. _

"_Say Gryffindor, or I swear by all that's unholy I will burn you to ashes with Fiendfyre and then spread your remains across the bottom of all the world's oceans!" _Bellatrix thought.

_No need to get personal, I was just having a bit of-_

"_GET ON WITH IT!" _Bellatrix thought as hard as she could.

"_Well, it is rather brave of you to walk into the lion's den after all, better be… _**GRYFFINDOR**_!"_

Julia White smirked and stood up, placed the hat back on the seat, then remembered she should be grinning instead. She plastered a smile on her face and half walked, half skipped over to the red and gold table. By the time she sat down, the trim on her robes had changed colour to match those of her new housemates. She received a few nods and waves and it looked like a few of the older students were about to introduce themselves, but with the Sorting finally finished, Flitwick had returned to his seat at the right of the Headmaster's, and McGonagall herself started speaking from the podium.

"Welcome, first years and transfer students to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," McGonagall said, her voice magically enhanced, "and welcome back all returning students."

As McGonagall started going on about rules and out of bounds areas, Bellatrix tried to peer down the table to determine if it really was Granger, but the girls were too far away and there were too many people in between. If it was Granger, she'd have to change her plans. Harry and Ginny could always break up, but Granger was the Golden Girl for life, however long or short _that _might be.

"I have a few introductions to make as well," McGonagall said, having finished with the warnings, some of which Bellatrix already knew she would be violating within the first few weeks, "first, taking over the Defence Against the Dark Arts position and new head of Gryffindor house, please welcome Professor Frances Winthrop."

McGonagall turned and applauded as a fair skinned man of about average height and build with short brown hair combed over to one side stood up from his seat at the head table and briefly waved to the students. He looked to be in his late 30's and wore a pair of black horn rimmed glasses. Before he sat down, he waved his hand over his robes and charmed them into Gryffindor crimson and gold to a smattering of applause and hoots from the lions' table.

"And taking over Transfiguration is Professor Anna Collins," McGonagall said, and a slim freckled woman with flaming shoulder length red hair and green eyes stood up and waved to the students. She looked slightly younger than Winthrop, but healthier and more vibrant somehow. The students gave her polite applause as well.

"Now, I know we're all hungry, but let us first take a moment of silence, in remembrance of those who cannot be with us at this start of term feast," McGonagall said.

The Hall fell quiet; there was not even a rustle of clothing. Julia might have suspected a silencing jinx had been placed on the entire Hall if she didn't hear the younger girl sitting next to her stifle a sniffle. Julia looked over to see a third or fourth year brunette biting her lip and fighting against tears.

"We owe it to all of them to be the best version of ourselves we can be, to live as fully as we can, so their sacrifice will not be in vain," McGonagall said, "now without further ado, please tuck in, and enjoy the Welcoming Feast."

Dishes appeared on the tables, roasts and gratins and soups, all steaming and delicious. Julia felt her mouth watering at the cornucopia of fragrances, especially after her lengthy confinement in the sub-vault. She started with a carrot soup and had barely taken her first sip when a boy, young man, really, across from her waved to get her attention.

"Hullo, welcome to Hogwarts, and Gryffindor," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "my name's Longbottom, Neville Longbottom."

He had dark hair, a strong jawline and a hint of stubble on his face.

"_Really rather_ d_ashing_," Bella thought.

Bellatrix definitely recognized the name; he was from one of the pureblooded houses she'd had drilled into her from age three. She thought she might have read about him in one of the Prophet articles as well but couldn't really recall the details.

"White, Julia White, you can call me Julia," Julia said, "pleasure to meet you Longbottom."

"Likewise, and you can call me Neville," Neville said, "so where'd you transfer from, if you don't mind my asking?"

"_Time to test out the cover story_," Julia thought.

"I was home schooled," she replied, "and for the last few years I was living abroad."

Neville nodded.

"On the Continent?" he asked.

"Yes, staying away from all the… unpleasantness," Julia replied.

Neville frowned.

"Yeah, last year was rough," he said.

A pained expression crossed his features and he looked down at his plate. The conversation effectively died a quick death right there as Neville focused on eating, and Julia was more than glad to follow suit, even as she surreptitiously attempted to steal glances down the other end of the table. She ate a great deal more than she probably should have and topped off the meal with a slice of treacle tart, picked just before the platters and serving utensils vanished back to the kitchens.

McGonagall once again took the podium.

"I trust everyone has eaten their fill, and if not, the house elves are more than willing to bring snacks to the common rooms," she said, "breakfast will begin tomorrow at seven o'clock."

"Prefects, please escort the first years and transfer students to the common rooms, then report to the Prefect's Lounge for this week's duty schedules," McGonagall said, "Tomorrow is the first day of classes, and curfew is in thirty minutes."

A great shifting sound echoed up from the tables as hundreds of students stood up and began crisscrossing the hall, some to meet old friends, some to head to their common rooms. Julia gave up trying to identify her quarry and instead walked over to the nearest prefect, a stocky boy with curly black hair, calling out for first years and transfer students. Julia waited until the Hall was mostly empty and followed him along with the rest of the group of first years and transfers out of the Hall and up several staircases to the entrance to Gryffindor tower. She followed the others up the mahogany steps and listened as the prefect gave the password 'hope springs eternal', causing the painting of a fat lady to swing open.

The common room was much as she expected, all cosy reds and oranges with a fireplace crackling merrily, several overstuffed couches and armchairs, along with tables for reading or relaxing. Several of the younger students had apparently raced ahead to claim prime floor space and were already engrossed in a game of Exploding Snap.

"My name is Michael Karume," the prefect said, "and you can ask any of the prefects for help getting around, or anything else; that's what we're here for. I suggest you head to your dormitories now, boys on the left, girls on the right, and get settled in and meet your roommates. The professors will not excuse tardiness on the first day, so if you want to avoid points taken off or detentions, I suggest you turn in early."

Julia checked around the common room, and not seeing Weasley there, traipsed up the steps to the 7th year girls' dormitory. It took a moment to identify the correct door, which she pushed open once she found it. The room was yet more red, with the same four poster beds she was used to, but with heavy crimson curtains instead of green. Also different were the windows looking out onto the grounds as they were up in a tower instead of beneath the lake. Other than that, it was much the same as the Slytherin room she'd stayed in for nearly seven years, except there were only three beds in this room even though it was large enough to house five. From the outlines on the floor, two of the beds had been removed recently, and replaced with reading desks and chairs, one of which already had a school robe folded across the back of it.

Cross-legged on the floor with a racing broom set across her lap, white polishing cloth in hand, sat Ginny Weasley, her hair pulled back in a ponytail while she worked. She paused mid swipe to look up.

"I still can't believe Harry lent it to you," a voice from inside one of the four posters said.

"Hello," Ginny said, placing the broom carefully against her bed and standing up, brushing off her robes, "I'm Ginny Weasley, you can call me Ginny."

"Hi, Julia White," Julia said with a small wave, "Julia is fine."

"Oh good, you're here," the voice from the four-poster said.

The bushy haired girl from earlier pulled back the curtains and stepped out. Now that she was up close, it was clear, Julia would be rooming with the Golden Girl. Julia couldn't fully suppress a smile. Granger had already taken off her robe and was wearing muggle trousers and a long-sleeved brown t-shirt.

"Hi, I'm Julia White," Julia said, "call me Julia."

"I'm Hermione," Hermione said, "pleased to meet you."

"Oh, I think everyone knows who you are," Julia said with a smile, "very pleased to make your acquaintance."

Hermione smiled at that and a bit of pink coloured her cheeks.

"You're going to have to get used to it eventually, Hermione," Ginny said, "you're famous now."

Hermione rolled her eyes and retrieved a heavy book from her bed, sitting down on the edge of it to continue reading. Ginny went back to polishing as Julia moved to the unoccupied bed. She opened her chest to make sure all her belongings were intact, pulled out her nightclothes, and set out some robes for the next day. With Ginny focused on tuning up her broom, Julia took a moment to watch Granger. She didn't look like much, slightly shorter and lighter than Julia herself, and she obviously didn't care much about her appearance with her out of control hair and completely uncharmed face without a hint of make-up. Looks could be deceiving though; she was supposedly one of the keenest minds of her generation, despite her dirty blood.

"What are you reading?" Julia asked.

"The Rise and Fall of Tom Riddle Jr. aka Lord Voldemort," Hermione replied absently, flipping a page.

Julia blinked.

"Is it… accurate?" she asked.

"That's why I'm reading it; to make sure it's accurate," Hermione said without looking up, "so far it is, but I'm only about halfway through."

"Do you mind if I borrow it after you're done?" Julia asked.

"Not at all," Hermione said, looking up and making eye contact, "the more who read it, the better. As I see it, it's every witch and wizard's obligation to know what really happened, so it never happens again."

"I feel the same way," Julia felt herself say with a smile.

Hermione smiled back and gave her a small nod, then went back to reading. Julia put a mental tick in a box for making a good impression on Granger.

Ginny finished polishing with a final flourish and placed her broom on a rack at the top of her bed, then packed up the broom polishing kit.

"Where'd you transfer from?" she asked as Granger turned another page.

"I was home schooled," Julia said, "lived in France for the past few years. But with everything that happened, and with Hogwarts taking transfers…"

"It _is_ one of the best wizarding schools," Ginny said, "I didn't even know they ever took transfer students."

"The last time was in 1849," Hermione said absently, "incidentally the last year of the Great Irish Famine but that's not the reason Hogwarts accepted transfers."

Julia waited for Hermione to expand on the bit of trivia but when she simply kept reading, Julia looked to Ginny questioningly.

"She does that sometimes," Ginny whispered.

"I _can_ still hear you, Ginevra," Hermione said with semi-faux annoyance.

Ginny chuckled.

"You play quidditch?" Julia asked, figuring she would earn some points with Ginny as well.

Ginny nodded.

"I'm captain," she said, "we definitely have our work cut out for us this year. Do you play?"

"A bit," Julia said, "I might be somewhat rusty."

"You should come to try outs next week," Ginny said, "it's a big year and there's a lot of open spots."

"Sure, I'll come," Julia said, "though with it beng a new school and all I don't know if I'll have time, assuming I even make the team. Do you play, Hermione?"

Hermione snorted.

"Brooms and I have come to an understanding," Hermione replied without looking up, "I leave them alone and they leave me alone. I'll come support the team though."

The lights flickered three times.

"That's curfew," Ginny said, pulling out a class schedule from her trunk, "I have Defence Against the Dark Arts first thing tomorrow. Do you know anything about Professor Winthrop?

Julia shook her head.

"His father is a member of the Wizengamot," Hermione said, finally closing the book, "he's been living in Europe for the past decade or so. We're in the same class, by the way."

"Are you in NEWT Defence first thing tomorrow too?" Hermione asked Julia.

"Yes," Julia replied.

"Alright, tomorrow morning we can head to breakfast together and then show you where the classroom is," Hermione said.

"That would be fantastic, thanks so much," Julia said.

Ginny pulled out a fluffy bathrobe and nightgown and went to the adjoining bathroom to shower first while Julia set up her bed to her liking and laid out some of her accessories on her night table. By the time she was done, both of the other two had already changed and prepared for bed. Hermione wore long sleeved pyjamas and Ginny wore a dark pink witch's nightgown.

"Night you two, see you tomorrow," Ginny said, drawing her curtains closed and putting up silencing charms around her bed.

"Night," Julia and Hermione responded.

Hermione stayed up to read while Julia showered and changed into pyjamas. The lights were out but Hermione still read by the light of her wand as Julia padded across the thick carpeting.

"Night Julia, it was nice meeting you," Hermione said, drawing the curtains closed, "see you tomorrow."

"Good night, Hermione," Julia said.

"_All in all, a fantastically successful first day,_" Julia thought, closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.

She was awakened sometime in the middle of the night by a sharp hissing sound. Julia opened her eyes to see a small flame flickering around a hole about the size of a galleon in her bed curtains, just inches above her right foot. She leapt up, grabbed her wrist holster from the shelf above her head and ripped the wand from it. Quickly she twirled the wand about herself, disillusioning and obscuring her form, then casting a wordless extinguishing spell to take care of the flames before they spread.

"_Homenum Revelio_," she whispered.

It was just herself and the two other girls in the room. Quietly, she crept out the side of her bed. The room was almost pitch black, except for a small flame licking at Hermione's bedcurtains. A fire jinx had gone straight through both her curtains and Hermione's. Julia extinguished the flame on Hermione's curtain as well and pulled the heavy cloth back. Hermione lay there, gripped in the throes of some nightmare, twisting and turning and murmuring in her sleep, clutching her wand tightly. Julia barely got a shield up as another spell fired from the tip of it, an underpowered reductor by the feel of it impacting the ceiling.

"Bloody hell Granger, wake up!" Julia shouted, dropping her disillusionment and firing a bright lumos into the top of Hermione's curtained bed.

Hermione sat up straight, eyes wide in the bright light and hair even wilder than usual, t-shirt damp from sweat. She squinted around and hyperventilated for a moment before her eyes settled on Julia, who by now was standing with one hand on her hip and her wand arm holding the curtain open.

"You just set both our curtains on fire!" Julia said, pointing to the smouldering hole, "and almost blew me up with a reductor!"

She cut herself off before she called Granger a stupid mudblood even if she _was_; that definitely would have been counterproductive to her long-term goals.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Hermione said, visibly flustered, "that hasn't happened in weeks. I thought I was over it um… there were these photographers earlier today… and being back at Hogwarts, and just now reading about… I'm sorry."

Hermione gave a trembling sigh, closed her eyes, rubbed her temples, and took deep, calming breaths.

Julia likewise got a grip on her temper and realized this was a prime opportunity.

"No harm done, really," she said quietly, trying to put as much empathy and concern into her voice as she could, "it must be difficult for you Hermione, with everything you've seen. Are you alright? Do you want to talk about it?"

Hermione shook her head, her unruly mane growing even more wild.

"I'm fine, really," she said, opening her eyes again, "today was just really tough being back where…, everything happened. I'll put up some wards so… we don't have to worry about that again."

"I think I might do that as well, but you know, there's a shelf, just back there," she said, pointing to the cubbies built into the wall, "You probably don't need to sleep with your wand under your pillow. It's Hogwarts. It's safe."

Hermione gave off a half-scoff, half-giggle at that.

"If you only knew," she said, shaking her head.

"It sounds like there's a story or two there," Julia said, absently twirling her wand between her fingers, "but maybe we can save that for another night?"

"Yes, sorry again for waking you up," Hermione said, shivering and pulling her sheets up to her neck, "and almost setting you on fire."

"At least now I can say I traded spells with Hermione Granger," Julia said with a smirk.

"Seriously though," Julia added, "if you ever want to talk, about anything, or anyone..."

"Thanks for the offer," Hermione said, "I'll keep it in mind, but for now I think I'm going to read a bit."

Julia nodded.

"Night," she said.

"Goodnight," Hermione replied.

Julia stepped back and let the curtain close, then saw the tell-tale bubble of a protective ward shift the lines around the bed until they faded to invisibility. She returned to her own bed and sat cross-legged in the centre of the mattress, fixed the hole in her curtains with a quick _reparo, _then cast her own _protego totalum_ protective enchantment using the curtains and bedposts as a base.

"_Should be good enough to last the night,_" she thought.

She placed her wand back in her wrist holster in the cubby, then lay down on her back and stared up at the inky blackness of the canopy above her, fingers laced behind her head. What a day! Granger's nightmares were a weakness, certainly. She just needed to figure out a way to exploit them. Various possibilities flitted through her mind until she finally drifted off to sleep, this time uninterrupted until morning.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Chapter 6

Hermione's eyes burned as she opened them in the dim morning light filtering through a crack in her curtains. She'd definitely stayed up way too late reading… again. She sat up, crossed her legs, closed her eyes again, and controlled her breathing. She found it a bit more difficult to meditate on her bed than on a deserted sandy beach in Sydney, but she definitely felt a bit calmer and more in control after the exercise. Hermione pulled back her bedcurtains to see Julia, already changed into her standard work robes, reading at one of the desks. The transfer student looked over her shoulder, auburn hair framing her face and blue eyes catching Hermione's.

"It's about time, I was about to wake you up," Julia said, "Ginny went ahead, said she wanted to catch up with some of her friends."

Hermione nodded.

"I'll just be a moment," Hermione said, stepping through the curtains on the far side of the bed and grabbing the clothes she'd laid out the night before. She went to the loo and washed up a bit, twisted her hair into a messy bun and pointedly avoided looking in the mirror as she pulled on her bra, undershirt, school tie, trousers, and sweater. She pulled on her robe and felt about the pockets for her prefect's badge for a moment before remembering she didn't have one this year. After giving herself a once-over in the mirror, she stepped out to find Julia waiting by the door with a black satchel bag already slung over one shoulder, and a clip in her hair to keep her bangs out of her face.

"Right, let's go," Hermione said, grabbing her own bag and leading the way out the door.

The common room was empty; if they didn't hurry, they would miss breakfast altogether. Hermione set a rather quick pace, talking as Julia fell into step beside her.

"The fastest way to the Great Hall depends on the day and time, owing to the moving staircases," Hermione said as they descended one such staircase, "you'll get used to it after a week or two, and if you get lost, you can always ask the paintings."

Hermione kept up a steady regurgitation of facts verbatim from 'Hogwarts, a History' as they walked the halls, both to avoid talking about the embarrassing incident the night before, and to avoid looking at any one area too long in case she recognized a spot where someone had died the previous May. Julia stayed silent through the first four floors.

"And there's Sir Cadogan," Hermione said, "he was actually a knight of-"

"I didn't say anything, by the way," Julia interrupted, "to Ginny. About last night."

"Oh. Well... Good. Thanks," Hermione replied.

She absently wondered whether Julia might request a room transfer; it wasn't every day you were assigned to someone who nearly set the curtains on fire the first night. Her mind wandered aimlessly as she automatically skipped over a trick step.

"Oh! Watch out for the…" Hermione started, only to see Julia standing on the same step as her, looking at her with a single arched eyebrow.

"How did you know-?" Hermione asked.

"Prefect warned us last night," Julia replied, scuffing her toe on the ground, "and it's no problem, really. I'll put up wards. The practice can only help."

Hermione nodded and continued towards the Great Hall. They walked for a moment and Hermione's thoughts began to wander again.

"I'm told I'm a good listener," Julia said, interrupting the silence, "if it might help to talk."

Hermione shook her head.

"Thank you, but I'm fine," she said.

They entered the Great Hall against the flow of traffic as some students were already leaving, and sat at the nearest open seats at the red and gold table. None of the professors were at their seats; they'd probably already left for their first period classes.

Hermione wolfed down some ham, eggs, and toast and carried a cup of orange juice with her as Julia followed suit. She led the transfer student to the third floor DADA class where they arrived with less than a minute to spare. The room was exactly the same as she recalled, right down to the iron chandelier and dragon skeleton hanging from the ceiling. The two seats directly at the front and centre were open, which worked out perfectly since it gave Hermione the best seat to hear the lecture and take notes. She was surprised a bit as Julia slid into the seat to her right; most students tended to avoid the first row. Professor Winthrop sat at his desk, elbows on his wood surface and fingers steepled as he observed the students arriving, his horn-rimmed glasses giving his otherwise youthful features a serious demeanour. Hermione looked around and noted Ginny was already present, seated next to another Gryffindor with long, straight, dirty blonde hair... Julie Parks, Hermione thought her name was, as she noted her prefect's badge. Neville wasn't in the class, which was odd. She'd thought he'd definitely have signed up for NEWT DADA, all things considered. Tracey Davis sat alone near the back of the classroom.

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted as Professor Winthrop stood up and began to take roll.  
"Granger, Hermione," he said, getting to her name.

"Present," she replied loudly and clearly. His looked as if he was about to say something, then went on to the next name, until he reached Ginny, and finally Julia.

"Present," Julia said. He paused again much as he had for Hermione, staring until Julia shifted uncomfortably and wiped at her mouth, guessing that some remnants of the hastily eaten breakfast remained. Winthrop flicked his wand and the roll parchment flew neatly onto his desk at the front of the class.

"Excellent, that's everyone. Welcome to year seven Defence Against the Dark Arts," he said with a welcoming gesture of both arms, "my name is Professor Frances Winthrop, and for the next nine and a half months, I will be your instructor as you prepare to take your NEWT examinations in the subject. From this moment forward, there will be no spell incantations in this class; everything we practice is to be cast wordlessly."

The professor paced back and forth across the raised platform at the front of the classroom as he spoke.

"I understand you've had an inconsistent Defence education in the past, with seven different professors over the past seven years, last year being especially harrowing, so we don't have any time to spare."

He had a slight accent that Hermione couldn't quite place, but perhaps that was simply from living abroad for such an extended period of time.

"I may be young, but in my travels, I have seen many things. I have found that in order to gain an appreciation for the Dark Arts, one must have experienced them first hand," he said.

He paused to ensure he had the full attention of the class.

"I assure you, I am not a Dark Wizard, though if you asked one of my exes, you might receive a different answer," he said with a playful smirk, "I take no responsibility for what certain biased individuals from my youth might believe."

This elicited a few a few titters of laughter from the class.

"_He's clearly a practiced orator,_" Hermione thought as she glanced around to see the entire class sitting up and leaning forward at attention.

"So, let's see where we are," Winthrop said, pausing in his pacing to lean against his desk, "magic is magic, and knowledge is knowledge, and either can be used for good or for ill. Who can tell me one thing that makes magic Dark?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air at the same time as Julia's did.

"Miss White," Winthrop.

"Intent," Julia replied, "For certain Dark spells, you have to _want_ to hurt someone else."

The Golden Girl narrowed her eyes at the auburn-haired girl sitting next to her. It had been almost exactly the answer she would have given if called upon.

"Excellent, and this is especially true of the Unforgivables, I assume we're all familiar with those," Winthrop said, "they simply won't work unless you _really _want them to. Anyone else?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air again.

"Miss Granger," Winthrop said.

"Injuries caused by Dark curses, weapons, or certain creatures can't be healed properly," Hermione said.

Winthrop nodded.

"Yes, many Dark curses are designed to prevent magical healing," Winthrop said, stopping in front of Julia's seat to look at her as he spoke, "scars from these curses, be they physical or mental, can be permanent."

Hermione's arm itched at the statement and she resisted the urge to scratch through her sleeve as Winthrop continued his pacing.

"And Dark creatures are typically those who, whether to sustain their existence or by their very nature, are driven to hurt or kill humans, though there are exceptions. What about subversion of free will, hmm?" Winthrop asked, "yes, the Imperius curse is highly illegal, but what about, say, a love potion? Illegal? Possibly, if it was administered without knowledge and depending what came about afterwards, assuming the recipient wished to file a complaint. What about, a cheering charm, cast by a sales person to make a purchase more likely?"

Hermione was the only one to raise her hand this time, at which Winthrop only smiled and gestured for her to put it down, which she did, reluctantly.

"And we come to the point, which is to say, since the Ministry has not made love potions illegal, and has not classified them as Dark magic, then so it is," Winthrop said, "if a cheering charm used to coerce someone to willingly part with galleons they otherwise wouldn't is not Dark, then it is not Dark. While love potions are highly restricted in many other countries, and to use them against an unwilling victim is highly illegal, that doesn't matter for your NEWTs."

"We are not here to discuss ethics or morality," Winthrop said, "since in Britain the use of an Unforgivable curse, or blood magic, or certain rituals to save the lives of hundreds, or thousands, is Dark, then in this class, it is."

Hermione thought he held eye contact with her a bit longer as he mentioned Unforgivables, but it could have just been her imagination. The fact they'd used the Imperius curse while breaking into Gringotts had never been mentioned to the Aurors or the Unspeakables for exactly this reason. It was clear the laws were flawed; the Ministry would have to break their own rules to avoid sentencing herself, Ron and Harry to Azkaban for life, and there were certainly those who would have liked to see exactly that, with the goblins at the head of the queue.

"As I mentioned at the start of class, my task as an instructor is to prepare you for the NEWT written and practical examination next spring. The syllabus lectures, classroom exercises, and written assignments will be geared towards this end. However, for those of you who wish to further your understanding of how to protect yourselves from wizards or witches who wish you ill, I will be offering supplementary, self-directed practical classes in the evenings," Winthrop said.

That definitely sounded interesting, almost like an independent study. Winthrop might even be able to help her with the anti-obliviation potion and charm she planned to research. Hermione craned her neck around to look at Ginny, who gave a non-committal shrug and mouthed 'quidditch'. She then turned to Julia and found her blue eyes were looking back at her own questioningly. She gave a small nod which Julia smiled at and returned.

"Today's topic is Hags," Winthrop said, getting into the day's lesson, "primarily formed from vampire conversions that have gone wrong somehow, they are usually former witches who still possess magic, which is different from wand magic in several ways. They are considered Dark creatures because they require living flesh or blood to sustain their existence and fuel their magic, and are weakened by direct sunlight."

As Winthrop wove the threads of his words together to form the tapestry of his lecture, Hermione quickly became sucked in. The man obviously had passion for the subject, and the enthusiasm reflected in the language of his body and cadence of his voice was infectious; he knew exactly how to pluck the strings of his audience. She quickly felt all sense of her sleep-deprived fatigue evaporate, replaced by a yearning know more. The lesson flew by, and before she knew it, she was writing down the specifics of the assigned fifteen inches on Hags, and Hermione, Ginny, and Julia, along with several others, had all signed up for Winthrop's supplemental lessons.

Winthrop's gaze never left Julia as she signed her name, the last to do so, and they followed her as she left the class with Hermione and Ginny for Herbology.

"It seems he actually knows what he's talking about," Hermione said once they were out of earshot, "more than I could say for most of the Defence professors we've had."

"He does seem knowledgeable, but did you see the way he was looking at me?" Julia asked.

"He looked at me too," Hermione said.

"Hermione, you're a war hero, everyone looks at you," Julia replied, "and he didn't look at you as much as he looked at me. He was practically staring."

"I noticed too," Ginny said with a grin, "maybe he fancies you."

Hermione felt her friend gearing up for some patented Weasley ribbing.

"Bit creepy is what it is," Julia said as they reached the second level, "he's my Professor, and what, twice my age?"

"A bit older, yes, but he's definitely not tough on the eyes, and I saw you staring right back at him, Julia," Ginny said with a wink.

"He's was giving a lecture, of course I was watching him!" Julia said, with a roll of her eyes, "what, you weren't?"

"Not like you, I'm pretty sure I saw you wiping some drool off your face. And you signed up for 'special lessons' with him," Ginny continued, undeterred, making quotes with her fingers.

The redhead grinned evilly before placing a hand on her chest and sighed in a mock swoon.

"'Oh, Professor Winthrop, could you help me check if there's any Dark magic on my knickers,'" Ginny mimicked.

"Ginny!" Hermione said, scandalized, interrupting Julia's no doubt scathing retort, "Ugh! Sometimes it's so obvious you grew up with six broth-," Hermione said, cutting herself short a split second too late. Uncomfortable silence filled the air as Hermione cursed her inability to keep her damn mouth shut.

"What… just happened?" Julia asked quietly.

"My older brother Fred was killed a few months ago," Ginny said, all mirth gone from her voice, "just there, a few floors up."

The sombre moment was interrupted by a loud bang and a cry of pain from around the corner. All three of them had their wands out in a flash. Hermione rushed around the corner, Ginny right beside her.

Tracey Davis stood in the middle of a T-junction wearing an expression of disgust and anger, arm outstretched, wand pointed in the face of an inverted and disarmed Gryffindor boy, fourth or fifth year by the look of him. A Slytherin boy, also fourth or fifth year, with his robes partially transfigured into frilly pink fabric, sat on the floor quietly (and poorly) trying to transfigure them back to regular black work robes.

"Who were the other two with you?" Davis asked, "or should we make it a week's worth of detention?"

The Gryffindor, Stevens, Hermione thought his name was, saw her approaching.

"Granger, thank Merlin you're here," Stevens said, "you gotta help me!"

"What's going on here?" Hermione asked, stepping closer.

"Stay out of this, Granger," Tracey said, not taking her eyes off Stevens, "you're not a prefect this year, so unless you're going to-"

"_Diffindo," _someonewhispered from down around the corner, out of sight from Hermione. Tracey heard it coming and tried to twist away, but took it on the back of her shoulder. A spatter of blood hit the wall as the blonde Slytherin cried out in pain, and Stevens dropped into a heap, using his hands to protect his head from landing on the stone corridor floor.

"Davis!" Hermione said, a half-dozen spells popping into her head as she put her back to the corner next to the adjoining corridor to keep out of line of sight from where the spell had come from. Tracey scrambled on hands and knees to the opposite corner and sat against the wall.

She leaned forward and awkwardly jammed her wand into the hole in her robes with a grimace.

"_Episky," _she grunted, but Hermione doubted it would be enough to fully heal the cut.

Hermione felt her breaths coming short and fast. She couldn't hesitate, the enemy was sure to follow up their attack. She leaned around the corner, a _confringo_ on her lips, ready to blast the whole corridor apart. The shrapnel would probably at least injure whoever had attacked them, if it didn't incapacitate them outright. She pulled back at the last possible second as Julia raced around her.

"Don't worry your little head, Granger, I'll bring them back alive," Julia said in passing, "probably."

"You better run you little shits!" Julia shouted, tearing off after whoever had fired the severing charm, the sound of her taunts echoing off the stone corridors.

From seemingly very far away, Hermione observed Stevens quietly reach for his wand, only to stop when Ginny's shoe landed atop it.

"Nope," the redhead said, pointing her wand at him.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing, but Julia's distant insults and the sounds of spellwork and cries of pain and terror bounced around her brain, making it difficult to focus.

"_That could have been a student, probably was a student!" _Hermione thought, "_and I nearly fired blindly, could have killed them." _

She shook her head a few times and when she opened her eyes, all four of the others in the corridor were watching her warily.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Ginny asked, her wand still trained on Stevens.

"I'm fine, why?" Hermione asked.

"You were mumbling to yourself," Ginny said.

Julia chose that moment to reappear from around the corner, using her wand to levitate the bound and unconscious forms of two more Gryffindor students behind her. They both appeared to be unharmed, just stunned, Hermione was relieved to see. Julia was breathing hard, her cheeks flushed, but her grin spoke of exhilaration, and overall she looked quite pleased with herself.

"Here's the two junior troublemakers," Julia said, "dunno their names."

"Wildy and Marcos," Ginny said, "they're fifth years, along with Stevens here."

"Yes well, they're shite at disillusionment, and duelling, and pretty much everything else," Julia said, unceremoniously dropping them from a height of about a foot onto the floor and handing both their wands to Tracey Davis.

"Tracey, you should get that checked by Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said.

"I will, _Hermione,_" Tracey said, emphasizing the first name basis Hermione had switched to, "right after I drop these three off at Winthrop's. Hopefully he's not as biased as McGonagall was."

She bent over to pick up Stevens' wand, and levitated him along with the other two.

"You're a damn blood supremacist and you know it," Stevens said as Davis levitated him.

"Shut up, Stevens," Tracey said, "S_ilencio."_

She turned to Julia as Stevens kept mouthing insults silently.

"Thanks, didn't catch your name," she said, "I'm Tracey Davis."

"Julia White," Julia replied, "maybe don't stand with your back to a corridor next time, Davis."

Tracey sent her a withering look, then turned to the Slytherin who had by now finally managed to get his robe transfigured back to the way it was supposed to look.

"Alright Michaels?" she asked.

"Yeah, thanks," he said, breathing a heavy sigh.

"You're coming with me," Davis said and Michaels nodded, "we'll need your story for Winthrop so he can figure out punishment for these three."

"White, Granger, Weasley," Tracey said, "thanks. And see you around."

With a round of 'byes', Davis left with the trio of fifth year Gryffindors as Michaels followed, a slump in his shoulders.

"What was all that about?" Julia asked once they were alone again.

There was a moment of silence while Hermione wondered the same thing.

"Oh, I forgot you weren't here over the summer," Ginny said to Hermione, clearly used to the older girl's habit of answering every question.

"Almost all of the Death Eaters and Riddle's supporters were purebloods, or from Slytherin," Ginny replied as they continued walking, "often both, so unless you were an outspoken supporter of Dumbledore, or Harry, like my family was… I guess the world's been a bit more hostile to the snakes lately. Plus, a lot of people are hurting, lost loved ones, looking for someone to blame."

Ginny shrugged and chewed her lower lip thoughtfully.

"I guess I can sympathize with them a bit," Ginny said, "not that I would do anything like what those three did, but I can understand how they feel."

"It makes a lot of sense," Hermione said as they stepped out of the castle and into the mid-morning sun, "hopefully nobody gets hurt."

"Not seriously hurt anyway," she amended, remembering Tracey's shoulder. Somehow she suspected things would get a lot worse before they got better.

They arrived at the greenhouses and entered the first one. The air inside was much warmer than the chilly early autumn morning outside, and Hermione loosened her tie a bit as they made their way to the far side of the greenhouse. The distinctive smell of warm, moist vegetation made her reflexively inhale, and it smelled so much of life she couldn't help but fill her lungs completely with it. Professor Sprout waited for them at the end of the table, and towering over her was Neville Longbottom, laying out the last of the pruning shears they would apparently be using during the class.

"Morning Neville, you're here early," Hermione said.

"Morning Hermione," Neville said, "I've actually been here for several hours. Professor Sprout agreed to let me apprentice under her, so I'm assisting her with all her classes."

"Oh, that's wonderful," Hermione said, "you don't have any regular classes then?"

"Nope," Neville replied with a grin, "but I still get Hogsmeade weekends and I can still eat with the students this year. Best of both worlds."

His eyes caught on something over her shoulder and he stood up a bit straighter.

"Morning Julia," he said, "how are you finding Hogwarts so far?"

"Interesting. I've already had to deflect hexes from three different people," Julia replied.

Neville looked back to Hermione questioningly.

"Minor scuffle in the halls," Hermione explained.

"Ah well, you'll have to tell me about them sometime," Neville said.

"Not much to tell, but alright," Julia said.

Sprout chose that moment to interrupt Neville's next question as she began taking roll. Hermione started feeling uncomfortably hot in the humid greenhouse air as she hoped Julia wouldn't tell anyone about her little incident the night before. After she'd blacked out on platform 9 ¾, she didn't need any more fodder for the press about her mental condition. Once roll was completed, Sprout placed the parchment back on the front table and gestured to the shears.

"Today we're going to be trimming back the fire ivy which invaded greenhouse three over the summer," Sprout said, "the oils on the leaves burn and if you get too close, they'll try to wrap around you, so please be careful. Pair up, one student use the prods to distract the ivy while the other cuts the vines. If you find any flower bulbs please notify myself or Mr. Longbottom and we will retrieve them, as they have medicinal qualities. Do not try to harvest them yourselves. Right, gloves on, let's get to work."

The students retrieved the shears and prods and filed over to greenhouse three. Hermione worked with Ginny while Julia worked with Neville until Tracey arrived to take his place, apparently healed, robe repaired, and looking none the worse for wear. Eventually Hermione and Ginny found a bulb and called Neville over.

"Keep it back," Neville called as Hermione wrestled with the ivy wrapped around the end of her prod.

He retrieved a small glass jar with a special lid from a pocket and encased the flower bulb in it. With a quick motion, he snapped a sliding knife edge over opening of the jar, severing the bulb from the vine and sealing the bottle at the same time. Ginny then clamped the shears forcefully, severing the limb, and the vine twitched a few times before falling limp.

"Neville, could I have a word with you after class?" Hermione asked.

"Sure," Neville replied as he was called over to another pair of students.

Hermione dropped the vine into the growing pile outside greenhouse three. The severed plants already smouldered with exposure to the air, and it wouldn't be long before the whole thing went up, consuming the oils in the process. By the time class let out, sweat soaked large portions of Hermione's shirt beneath her robes, but she and Ginny had managed to avoid getting burned even once.

"Good job everyone," Sprout said, "twelve inches on the medicinal and potion qualities of fire ivy flower bulbs. See you next class."

Hermione walked over to Neville, waving goodbye to Julia and Ginny as they headed to lunch.

"Hey Hermione, have a good summer?" he asked.

"N-not so much," Hermione replied, "listen, I'm working on a special project this year. It's going to be really difficult but it's very important."

"Alright," Neville said, growing serious and giving her his full attention.

"I'm going to try to combine a potion and a charm to undo obliviation," she said.

"That's impossible," Neville said immediately, "long term obliviation damage can't be undone."

"Creating the Philosopher's Stone was impossible until someone did it the first time too," Hermione said, "every spell or potion ever created was impossible until someone did it. Anyway, it's really important to me and I'm already set on it, so don't try to talk me out of it."

Neville nodded.

"Alright, what do you need from me?" he asked.

"_That's the great thing about Neville, he's always there when you need him,"_ Hermione thought.

"I was hoping to sit with you from time to time and discuss the various qualities and interactions of potential potion ingredients," Hermione said, "you're brilliant at Herbology."

Neville gave a small grin at the compliment, then furrowed his brow.

"But Professor Sprout, or Slughorn-", he started.

"Professor Sprout wouldn't really waste her time because she already knows it's impossible, and Professor Slughorn, well, he was retired once already and it's been decades since he did his mastery. And I suspect a potions mastery was just a way for him to meet interesting people."

"_In other words, he'd be bloody useless and he'd spend the entire time trying to chat me up or introduce me to others to elevate himself,"_ Hermione thought.

Neville nodded slowly.

"When it comes to you and Potter and Weasley, I probably shouldn't rule anything out as impossible," Neville said, "of course I'll help, just say the word."

"Thanks Neville, it really means a lot to me," Hermione said.

Neville nodded.

"Say, that transfer student, Julia White," Neville said, changing the subject, and fiddling with his gloves, "you're rooming with her, right? How is she?"

"Clever," Hermione said, "good at duelling, I suppose. She's going to try out for quidditch. I don't really know much about her to be honest. Why, interested?"

Hermione sent Neville a mischievous grin.

"Maybe," Neville said, his cheeks reddening slightly, "she _seems_ interesting."

"Uh-huh," Hermione said, "d'you want me to put in a good word for you?"

"Oh, no need," Neville said, shaking his head.

"Right," Hermione said, "I'll see what I can find out. Thanks again Neville."

"Don't mention it," Neville said as he went back to hanging up the shears and prods and Hermione left the greenhouse.

Rather than head straight to Great Hall for lunch, Hermione walked down to the dungeons, to the main potions classroom. The class let out just as she arrived, tiny first year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws gawking at her as they passed in the corridor. She waited politely for the class to empty completely before knocking and entering. Slughorn's rotund mass swivelled from the blackboard and he broke into a broad grin as he recognized her.

"Miss Granger, come in, come in," he said, motioning to her.

"It's so good to see one of my students returning to continue their education," he said, "can I get you anything?"

He opened up a locked cabinet with several bottles inside which looked suspiciously like liquor.

"No thank you, Professor," Hermione said as he poured himself a small pony glass of amber liquid.

"Ah well, it's probably best not to imbibe with a student, even though we both know you're well beyond NEWT level by now, and an accomplished witch in your own right," Slughorn said, replacing the bottle with a _*clink*_ and taking a small sip, "of course you'll have a seat at the Slug Club this year."

"Err, right," Hermione said, "actually I wanted to see about the potions classroom McGonagall said I would be able to use this year?"

"Ah, yes, of course," Slughorn replied, downing the glass and replacing it back in the cabinet and locking it.

"Right this way," he said, turning sideways to fit between the potions counters and leading the way down the hall.

"This potions classroom fell out of use during my first stint as a professor," Slughorn said, unlocking a door about a hundred feet from the main potions room, "the Headmistress had the elves clean everything out before the term started."

The door swung open to reveal a potions lab very similar to the one she was used to, if a bit smaller. There was even an ingredients storage room.

"I understand you'll be taking on an independent study, something about researching a cure for obliviation?" Slughorn said, "Fascinating topic, to be sure. I can make myself available for advice and counsel, should you require. You'll also have access to a portion of the school ingredients stores, within reason."

"Thank you Professor, any guidance would be appreciated," Hermione said politely, inspecting one of the cauldron stands.

"Of course, of course," Slughorn said, "anything for a hero of the second wizarding war."

He handed the large iron potions lab key to Hermione.

"I'll see you at the next Slug Club, watch for the invitation," Slughorn said.

"Wouldn't miss it," Hermione said drily.

"I'll leave you to it, then, lunchtime, you know," Slughorn said, "after all, a waist is a terrible thing to mind. Good luck, Miss Granger."

He left the room humming a cheerful tune, and Hermione thought he was entirely too happy considering everything that had happened the previous spring, and the direct role he'd had in enabling Voldemort's resurrection.

"_Perhaps he's dosing himself with cheering draughts_," Hermione thought, and the more she considered it, the more likely it seemed.

She glanced around the potions lab. It had almost everything she needed, except for a few rolling blackboards for devising the arithmantic equations, but those she could appropriate from some of the multiple unused classrooms on the upper floors. She'd have to ward the lab as well, wouldn't want Slughorn or any curious students messing about with her experimental brews.

After locking the door to her(!) potions lab, Hermione exited the dungeons and made her way to the library. A whispered conversation with Madam Pince confirmed she had access to the Restricted Section, and naturally she wanted to go in and take a look. Not that Hermione hadn't been inside the rows of blue lit racks of nasty books before, but this time she was able to take her time and peruse the titles, which was a treat all to itself. She found several likely sources of useful information in the first pass and made a note of their locations before she started reading, just for a bit…

Hermione emerged from the library an undetermined amount of time later, but it was clearly after sundown. As she pushed open the door to the Gryffindor common room, she was nearly ambushed by Julia.

"There you are," Julia said, "we missed you at lunch."

"And dinner," Ginny added from one of the couches, where she was paging through a copy of Witch Weekly.

"I'm fine," Hermione said, moving into the common room and grabbing an apple from a platter someone had set out on one of the tables. She took a bite and headed up to the dormitory, stripped off her outer robes and her tie, and tossed them over the back of a chair. She kicked off her shoes, climbed into her bed, and closed the curtains. Hermione heard the two other girls come up a few minutes later as she ploughed through the final chapters of the Rise and Fall of Tom Riddle Jr, vanishing the apple core once she was done with it.

Finished, Hermione closed the book on Tom Riddle with a creak of leather, and then, without the distraction of the potions lab or anything else, she the enormity of the task before her and the weight of what she'd done to 'protect' her parents bent her spirit with its crushing certainty. What had seemed like the best and only option at the time revealed itself to be worse by varying degrees than at least a half-dozen other options she'd come up with after the fact and over the course of two months of near solitude in Australia. By then though, it was far too late. She felt her breath quicken as the walls of an inevitability of her own creation closed in on her, and the realization that this nine-month researching sprint was her last hope of getting her parents back, that failure meant losing them forever. Hermione waited until Julia was in the loo before throwing the curtains open and staring with desperation at a startled Ginny Weasley.

"I'm not fine, Ginny," Hermione said as Ginny stared open-mouthed, "I'm so incredibly, ludicrously far from fine."

Hermione practically vaulted off her bed and started pacing the floor in her stocking feet.

"Obliviation spell damage is incurable, everyone knows its incurable," Hermione said, gesturing with one hand while the other clutched at her chest, "There's an entire ward at St. Mungo's for people who have no memories. I'm literally trying to do the impossible, and if I can't do it, if I mess up, I've lost my parents forever, and it's my own fault."

She paced a few more lengths of the room, shaking her head and mumbling to herself before Ginny grabbed her by both shoulders and stared into her eyes, and all Hermione could think of, stupidly, was that the redhead's eyes were a very distinct shade of brown from her own.

"Stop. It's not your fault," Ginny said, "it was Tom, and his followers, and you did what you had to do."

She pulled Hermione into a tight hug.

"You're the most brilliant witch I know, if anyone can do it, you can," she said, "you saved Harry and Ron so many times, and you're going to save your parents too, and when you do, they're going to have to come up with a new award to give you when all those patients in St. Mungo's are cured. Though, maybe we could leave Lockhart there."

Hermione gave a wet half-chuckle, half-sob. When had she started crying?

"That's not all," Hermione said, clutching the back of Ginny's robes into her fists, "I think the stress is getting to me. Today, with Davis, on the way to Herbology, for a second I was back at the battle. I nearly blew that corridor apart. I… I don't know what I would do if I hurt someone. I could have killed those kids today."

"Occulmency," Julia said from one side.

Hermione quickly stepped back from Ginny, wiped her cheeks with her sleeve, and looked over to see Julia standing barefoot in front of the door wearing only a fluffy white towel around her body as steam poured out of the room, hair soaking wet and plastered to her head.

"Sorry, I couldn't help overhearing," Julia said, "but occlumency will help you compartmentalize your feelings and memories. Or so I'm told."

She walked over to her trunk, pulled out a purple nightgown and applied a drying charm to her hair before ducking behind her bed's curtains to change.

"Well, there you go," Ginny said.

"Right. Occulmency, no problem," Hermione said.

Julia emerged and tossed her towel over her trunk to dry. Hermione retrieved the book from her bed and handed it to the auburn-haired girl.

"I finished it just now," Hermione said.

Julia looked down at the book and the picture of a handsome young Tom Riddle Jr. juxtaposed with Lord Voldemort on the cover.

"Is it accurate?" she asked.

"Every word," Hermione said.

In the interviews, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had agreed to deliberately leave out some sensitive specifics the general public didn't need to know, like the details of the horcruxes, or the Deathly Hallows, but what information was in the book was true.

Julia nodded.

"Thanks for letting me borrow it," Julia said, "I'm sure it'll make for interesting reading."

Hermione nodded. The lack of sleep and the stress of the day was catching up to her and her mind felt full of cobwebs.

"I'm exhausted, I'm going to turn in early," Hermione said, "goodnight Julia, Ginny."

"Night Hermione," Julia said before disappearing behind her bedcurtains.

"Night," Ginny said before furrowing her brow.

"What's with the wards?" Ginny asked as Julia erected the barriers.

"Oh, about that…" Hermione said, preparing for how best to inform Ginny she'd almost set fire to the room the previous evening whilst they all slept...


	7. Chapter 7

Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Warning: Drug and alcohol abuse.

Chapter 7

Draco grunted as another small body piled on top of him and he grimaced in disgust. If there were any diseases wizards could catch from muggles, he was sure he'd been contaminated multiple times over in the past few days. Macmillian had warned him the children were starved for physical attention, but Draco wasn't prepared in the slightest for the random hugs or hand holding or requests to help them blow their nose or tie their shoes or zip their clothing. He'd never in a million years thought he would be having as much physical contact as he'd had in the past week, and to top it off, they were disgusting snot-nosed miniature muggles. Thank Merlin he didn't have to work with the non-toilet trained ones.

They were meant to be playing something called football, a simple game with only one round ball, two rectangular hoops they called goals, and apparently as many players as they liked. In reality, today's game probably should have been called 'tackle and pile on Draco'. The kids were all under ten years old, but there were over a dozen of them and the children didn't seem to care which team they were supposed to be on. Draco didn't think it was part of the rules, but they all gravitated to him and buried him under their own bodies.

"Get off, you sodding-" Draco gasped as an exceptionally well-fed muggle child jumped onto the pile, driving the wind out of him and eliciting a series of shouts and groans from the other children he'd crushed with his girth. Draco looked off to one side to see Darren, Mack, and Alan doubled over laughing. Those gits definitely had something to do with this. Draco finally managed to tear away from enough children to get to his feet and sprint away from them. They chased after him like a mob of grindylows hungry for a meal.

"What did you do, Welch?" Draco yelled.

Darren was laughing too hard to answer, but he did pull out some candies from his jacket pocket.

"Okay!" he gasped, "that's good enough."

He tossed the colourfully wrapped packets of highly processed sugar onto the field, and like the vicious grindylows they were, the children turned as one and dove after the sweets, pushing and shoving over them. Draco, now completely ignored by the children, brushed the grass from his clothing and hair and checked to make sure his wand was still securely strapped to his calf. A few days ago he'd managed to go shopping in muggle London where the only thing anyone cared about was whether he could pay. He now sported a pair of blue jeans, dark muggle loafers, a white polo shirt, and a dark blazer. He just couldn't peasant himself down enough to wear a casual sweatshirt and trainers like the other three young men typically did.

"Come on Drake, even you gotta admit that was a least a bit funny," Darren said, still holding his side.

Draco shook his head as he closed the distance to the three.

"You're about a hundred times better at being tackled than at actual footie," Alan said, "I'm pretty pants, but you're absolute shite. Have you ever even played football in your life?"

"Not really," Draco replied.

"No football at posh-boy school then?" Mack said. Draco disliked him and his fake blonde hair the most out of the three.

Draco just shrugged.

"Not really," he said again.

The three had been fishing for information about Draco for days now, but he'd demurred each time. He'd noted at least a dozen things they could improve about the actual game of football, but he kept his critiques to himself. The truth was he found football to be inferior to quidditch in almost every way, but he wouldn't insult the game because while the other three were having a bit of a laugh at his expense now, Draco suspected they could make his probation extremely difficult if they chose to. Almost everything about the muggle world was worse than the wizarding world, with perhaps the exception of the jeans everyone wore. Draco did have to admit they were a bit sturdier and protected his legs a bit better than his slacks.

Stephanie Griggs opened the back door of the orphanage.

"Okay, time for painting, and then it's dinner," she said, "lads, could you bring in the goals please?"

An excited cheer went up from the children as Darren, Draco, Mack, and Alan teamed up two apiece to disassemble the football nets and carry them into the building while the kids swarmed into the orphanage, leaving the discarded candy wrappers on the grass.

After stowing the goals and closing the door of the storage closet, the three muggles contemplated going outside for a smoke until they realized they had none left between them, so the four young men went straight to the assembly room where dozens of young children and several large rolls of paper were scattered about on the floor. Stephanie busied herself cleaning up green paint spilled from one of the jars which had already been knocked over. Some of the children used brushes, but most of them painted with their fingers. Predictably, paint ended up on faces, on the floor, and some on clothing, creating an almost absurd mess. Draco and the others mostly helped clean up where they could so the job wouldn't be too massive once the mini-muggles finally migrated to the dining hall, then they could clean and finish the day sooner rather than later.

Draco also talked with the children somewhat. He found it easier to interact with the younger ones, who had no expectations. It made it easier to cope with interacting with the adult muggles, despite his continuing disgust. Most of the children painted pictures of birds, or trees, or themselves with a family. He knelt down in front of a little blonde girl with a bob cut and a sharp nose wearing a blue dress, who was painting some kind of white lobster or shrimp on a brown background.

"What's that?" Draco asked.

"It's the monster," she replied without looking up.

Draco squinted and turned his head sideways, trying to get a better idea of what the five or six-year-old girl was painting.

"I see you've met Callie," a female voice next to him said.

"Mary!" the little girl, Callie, squealed as she dropped her paintbrush and Mary McKay knelt down to give her a big hug.

"McKay," Draco said as Mary picked up Callie and balanced her on one hip. He'd only spoken to her briefly a few times since they'd met on the playground.

"Hello Drake," Mary said, "Callie, say hello to Drake."

"Hello," Callie said, "Mary, put me down, I'm painting."

The little girl went back to drawing her strange shellfish monster.

"Callie's my sister," Mary said, "she's still young enough and cute enough I'm hoping she gets adopted soon. Don't you think she's cute?"

"Ah yes, adorable," Draco said, not even bothering to hide his disdain.

Mary looked down at the painting and frowned.

"Callista, are you painting that monster again?" Mary asked.

"Yes," Callie said, once again not looking up and continuing to paint.

Mary was about to say something else when Stephanie clapped her hands.

"Put your paintbrushes in the sinks please, and wash up for dinner!" she said loudly.

"See you around, Drake," Mary said, helping Callie off to the sinks. Draco didn't even bother replying.

There was a shuffle of movement as the orphans crowded towards a row of sinks at one end of the room, built low into the wall for children to access. After her charges had more or less washed up, Stephanie ushered the them off to the cafeteria while Draco, Darren, Alan, and Mack washed the paint brushes, hung up the papers to dry, stowed the paper rolls and paint jars, and mopped the floor.

"_This would literally take twenty seconds with magic,"_ Draco thought as he took his frustration out in violently scrubbing partially dried red paint off the floor.

Finally, when they were done and the room was passably clean but far from sparkling, the four delinquents washed their hands and arms to get all the residual colours off.

"Hey Drake, I know you're shite at football, but do you follow any teams? Gonna be wearing red tomorrow?" Darren asked.

"I suppose," Draco replied, guessing it was a professional football team, similar to professional quidditch teams.

"After we wrap up here, the lads and I are having a few mates over to watch the match," Darren said, "if you're keen."

"Ahh… I've got something on," Draco lied.

"Alright then, figured I'd ask," Darren said, "let me know if you change your mind."

Draco, dumbfounded, let the water run right past his hands for a good five seconds. These three, especially Darren, had been taking the piss out of him for the last four days, and now he'd just invited Draco to his home, presumably, to (somehow) watch a football match with them. Like Draco would ever spend more time interacting with muggles than he absolutely had to. Still, it was a bit confusing.

"_They're muggles, they don't make sense,"_ Draco thought.

The boys parted ways at the front of the orphanage and Draco walked quickly through the deepening night back to the Leaky, and tapped his way into Diagon Alley. It was such a comfort to be able to use his wand; he would never take it for granted again. Draco apparated to the Manor, managed to sneak in, change into proper wizarding clothing, and get back out without being seen, and then he was back to Diagon. Draco flicked off a _tempus_ charm and quickened his steps. He spotted Theo Nott just as he arrived at Christine's, the fine dining French restaurant at the South end of Diagon Alley.

"Evening Theo," Draco said, drawing his friend's attention just as Theo reached the front door.

"Right on time," Theo said, pulling on the bronze plated handle and holding the heavy wooden door for Draco.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Draco asked.

"I come here at least once a week," Theo said, "we'll be fine."

Everything about the restaurant reeked of ostentatious wealth, from the velvet padded seating area near the front, to the hands built into the walls designed to take cloaks and hats, to the floating chandeliers and candelabras draped in crystals. Mirrors lined one side of the wall to give the room a greater appearance of depth, and roughly two thirds of the tables were already occupied by well-heeled patrons, the gems in their clothing or earrings sparkling in the dim restaurant light. Theo stepped up to the hostess.

"Nott, table for two," Theo said.

"Right this way," the young brunette said, leading them to a booth near the back.

"So far so good," Draco said as he slid into the leather seat.

"I told you, we'll be fine," Theo said.

They took their time perusing the menu. It had been ages since Draco had eaten proper French gourmet, and he was very much looking forward to a minimum four course meal, perhaps some escargot or coq-au-vin, basque poulet, and maybe tiramisu or soufflé for dessert.

"Garçon," Theo said, displaying the entirety of his French language ability and waiving over a tuxedo clad waiter with slicked back black hair.

"I'll have the onion soup to start," Theo said.

"I'm sorry monsieur," the waiter interrupted, "we've received several complaints about your companion. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Theo paused.

"Really," Theo asked, "Do you have any idea who I am, and how many galleons I spend here each month?"

"Yes monsieur, and I'm so sorry sir, my apologies," the waiter said, bowing and waiting, refusing to make eye contact.

Theo's wand was out and he was no doubt about to hex the poor man right on his bald spot until Draco reached across the table and grabbed his friend's wand arm.

"Theo, probation, I can't risk a scene," Draco whispered.

"You're no fun anymore," Theo said, but he acquiesced and stowed his wand.

They made their way out of the restaurant, Draco doing his best to remain dignified in the embarrassing situation, until he felt a tripping jinx hit his legs and he grabbed onto a stand holding a pot of yellow flowers, causing the entire apparatus to tumble to the ground along with him with a sound of breaking ceramic. He leapt to his feet and drew his wand, ready to curse whoever had tripped him.

"Who did that?" he yelled, glaring about the room, wand trembling with rage, but the patrons just looked back at him, some with clear animosity, some with smugness, and some with bored indifference. Nobody said a word or made a move to stand.

Theo grabbed Draco's shoulder from behind and pulled him towards the entrance.

"Probation, remember?" Theo said quietly.

Once they were on the street, Draco paced and fumed, wand out. He wanted to blast something but they were in public.

"Can we go to your place?" Draco asked.

Theo shook his head.

"Doxy infestation, they're still fumigating," Theo said, "why do you think I'm out with your sorry arse? What about yours?"

Draco shook his head.

"My mother's there," he said.

"So?" Theo replied, "I haven't seen auntie Narcissa in months. I think it would be grand, I'm sure we'll have lots to catch up on, reminiscing about old times. No doubt conversation will be downright scintillating."

Draco mumbled something under his breath as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Didn't quite catch that," Theo said.

"I said you're a miserable cunt, Nott," Draco said, "let's go."

They apparated separately to Malfoy Manor, where Draco, as soon as he was through the gates and behind the safety of the wards, pointed his wand at a stone fountain.

"_Reducto!" _he yelled, and a beam of blue light struck the water-spewing satyr statue at the centre of the fountain, blasting it into dozens of pieces and scattering them into the high grasses.

"_Shit,"_ Draco thought, looking at his wand. He'd completely forgotten he needed to submit it for inspection on Sunday morning. Until now. Hopefully he could explain it away to Clark; it technically wasn't dark magic and it only worked on inanimate objects so….

Draco felt his mood sink even further as it occurred to him he couldn't even properly take out his frustration on his own property. Draco hunched his shoulders and walked up to the front door, Theo shadowing him silently as he pushed his way into Malfoy Manor. He glanced around the front foyer before leading Theo past the grand staircase to the main dining room. He peeked his way in through the door and spied the remains of at least a dozen meals, most barely touched, preserved by charms. Just the mere thought of eating on the table where Professor Burbage had been swallowed whole by Nagini still made his stomach turn. Moving quickly, he picked up two platters, passed one to Theo, then motioned his friend through the dining room and out the opposite door.

"Where'd those come from?" Theo asked.

"Shh," Draco said, "not so loud. They're mother's. A service brings them twice a day."

Draco led them into one of the sitting rooms and locked the door behind them. A crystal chandelier lit up as they entered, shedding warm light and illuminating thick dyed red carpets, green and white wallpaper, a pair of beige couches adorned with several pillows, and several comfortable looking chairs and richly stained mahogany tables. An antique harpsichord sat against one wall, collecting dust, while a pair of empty portraits adorned the opposite wall, framing the entrance to the room. Green and gold curtains covered the windows, which looked out onto the rear patio and garden during the day. Draco set his platter down on one of the larger tables and arranged a chair so the both of them could sit and eat. Between them, they had several small sandwiches, fruit salad, carrot and beef stew with bread for dipping, and vanilla pudding. The two mixed and matched plates until each had enough, then tucked in without ceremony.

"It's not Christine's, but at least the preservation charms haven't worn off," Theo said, chewing on a bit of beef, "so how's the probation, what have they got you doing?"

Draco sighed and put his fork down with a loud _*clank*_.

"I'm working an orphanage in muggle London," he said, "it's… its absolute pandemonium, every day. They have to do everything by hand, everything. Cleaning, moving things around, cooking, tossing the trash."

Draco shook his head.

"And there's so damn many of them, they're everywhere, and the kids are whiny annoying brats," he said quietly, "I'm already counting down the weeks until I'm done."

Theo nodded.

"Careful what you wish for," Theo said, "things are going to shite around here. The Ministry passed an equality act or some nonsense, everyone needs to move towards a set minimum proportion of mudblood and half-blood employees. Honestly, I didn't really pay much attention to it since I was busy, settling the estate and all, but it's causing some issues."

Draco chewed slowly.

"Let me guess…" he said thoughtfully, "Rather than fire a bunch of people, they're hiring mudbloods and half-bloods and keeping who they've got, and screw any pureblood who doesn't have a job. And that'll keep on until the quotas are met."

Theo pointed a fork at Draco.

"Right in one," he said, "which means pretty much none of our housemates could get a job despite graduating from one of the best wizarding schools in the world. Blaise fucked off to Italy with his mum. Pansy is living with her parents and last I heard she was up to two bottles of firewhiskey a day, or night, whatever. Greg left the country, not sure where, America maybe, and Tracey's parents were driving her so spare she chose to subject herself to another year at Hogwarts rather than stay with them."

"Shit," Draco said, "what about Daphne?"

"Haven't heard," Theo said, "her father ended up with life in Azkaban though, maybe she left the country with her mum and sister?"

"Shh," Draco said as he thought he heard something from the door.

Theo froze, pudding halfway to his mouth, and Draco listened for a moment but didn't hear anything else for several long seconds.

"How are you doing? Aside from the muggles I mean," Theo asked, "I know the Ministry confiscated a lot after the war."

Draco snorted.

"Yeah, luckily they can't touch our holdings on the Continent otherwise we'd be fucked," Draco said, "instead, they slapped us with reparations, enough so we'd have to liquidate everything to pay it off. They were 'generous' enough to let us pay in instalments over the next fifteen years. We get an allowance every month, and mother's on house arrest; she can't leave the manor until the reparations are paid."

"Generous," Theo agreed sarcastically, "fuck 'em, come with me to Italy when your probation's done, we'll find Blaise and have some fun."

Draco sighed.

"I can't leave my mum," he said, "I mean, she's a major pain in the arse but…"

"_Alohamora."_

The lock clicked and the door creaked open.

"Draco, it hurts you think so little of me," Narcissa Malfoy said, stepping into the room.

Once the epitome of high society social elite, times had obviously been tough for her lately. Her hair was tousled and flat on one side, clearly recently slept on. One hand held her wand, the tip glowing with dim white light, and other held a half-full crystal glass of red wine, sloshing dangerously as she walked into the room. She wore only wore a short purple silk bathrobe tied loosely about her waist, and the thin fabric hung from her frame, accenting how much weight she'd lost in the past few months. Apparently, she had also lost one of her matching purple slippers somewhere as one foot was currently unadorned.

Draco closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. At least she appeared to be in a relatively stable mood, which likely meant it was just wine in her glass without any 'special' additives.

Narcissa stopped and gasped in faux amazement when her glazed eyes noticed Theo.

"You didn't tell me we were having guests," she said, nearly tripping over the carpet as she walked forward.

She dropped her wand into a pocket of her robe and extended a pale arm.

"Theodore dear, it's so good to see you," she said.

Theodore half-stood and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

"Auntie Narcissa, you're looking well," he said, sitting down again.

"Thank you, Theodore, for your polite words, unlike _some _people-" she said, trying to glare at Draco but swaying unsteadily on her feet instead. As she stumbled and reached for the back of a chair to steady herself, one shoulder of her robe slipped off and halfway down her arm, revealing far more of his mother's chest and breast than Draco had ever wanted to see.

"For fuck's sake mother," Draco said, standing up and moving around the table and Theo, "cover up, nobody wants to see that."

"Actually-" Theo started.

"Not the bloody time Theo," Draco said, looking over his shoulder.

Theo smirked but at least he held up a hand in acknowledgement he'd gone too far.

"What is this you're drinking, mother?" Draco asked, reaching for the glass.

Narcissa pulled it away from him.

"Chateau D'Avalon, 1752," his mother replied, taking another sip.

Theo let out a low whistle.

"The twelve thousand galleons per bottle Chateau D'Avalon?" Draco asked.

"Well I've no one to share it with, do I?" Narcissa asked, slurring her words a bit, as she looked to Theo, "I'm a prisoner in this horrible manor. Nobody visits; nobody even replies to my letters anymore. For over two months, I haven't spoken to anyone but my son, and he for the most part endeavours to leave me here alone as often as possible."

She looked down into her glass.

"Might as well enjoy you before someone comes up with a reason to confiscate _you_ as well," she said to the wine, taking another sip.

Draco closed his eyes and let out a long even breath as Narcissa moved past him to all but collapse and slouch gracelessly into a chair.

"Maybe I'd stay around more if you weren't so sodding drunk all the time," Draco said.

"I'm just a bit tipsy," Narcissa said, "it's the evening, completely appropriate."

"Unlike your choice of attire," Draco muttered.

"I'll have you know this is made of the finest Cathay silk" Narcissa said, rubbing the material between two fingers.

"That's not the point… why do I even bother," Draco said.

Narcissa drained the last of her wine.

"Hmm," she said, looking at the empty glass as if trying to figure out what to do.

Theo gave him a schooled blank look, but Draco knew his friend well enough to know he was extremely amused by the entire situation.

"You're a disgrace to the House of Malfoy," a male voice interrupted their silent conversation.

Draco looked up to see one of the portraits flanking the door now occupied with an elderly male with bright blonde hair, wearing a pressed, dark suit. Septimus Malfoy looked down at Narcissa with distaste etched across his features.

Narcissa fumbled with her wand, eventually getting it out to point it at the portrait.

"Go back to sleep you old pervert, before I put you back in storage," she said.

"In my day you would've been properly taught to not to dress like a common whore," Septimus said, eyeing her state of dress.

With a cry of indignation, Narcissa surged to her feet, or she tried to, but ended up stumbling and falling onto all fours on the carpet.

"Assuming the position are we?" Septimus smirked.

Narcissa looked up and unsteadily aimed her wand at the portrait, only for Draco to pluck it from her fingers. She attempted to grab it back but flopped unceremoniously onto her back instead.

"_Silencio,"_ Draco said, pre-empting whatever Septimus was about to say. The portrait merely watched in amusement.

"I thought we had all of the moving carpets disenchanted," Narcissa said from the floor as she looked up at the chandelier.

Draco just shook his head.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," he said, levitating her.

It was a moment before she realized what was happening.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, you put me down this instant!" she said.

"Just as soon as we get you to bed, mother," Draco said, "Theo, I'll only be a moment."

Theo nodded.

"It was a pleasure to see you again, Lady Malfoy," he said.

Narcissa was too caught up in cursing at Draco to form a proper response. Draco levitated her through the house, taking care not to bump her head on anything. As they left the dining room, she caught onto the doorframe with both hands and refused to let go.

"Mother, don't make me stun you," he said.

"You wouldn't dare!" Narcissa said.

Draco levelled his wand at her face, and she relented, releasing the frame and crossing her arms. They walked and floated in silence for a few minutes through the massive manor, Draco levitating his mother in front of him.

"Why do you do this mother?" he asked.

"Why do you think?" she snapped.

She was silent for a moment.

"Nothing else helps me pass the time, and I've fifteen years before I can leave this place," she said.

Draco nodded.

"I hate it," she said, "I never liked this manor, but your father insisted we live here. And now I'm forced to. I'd replace the furnishings if I could, but…"

She trailed off. She didn't need to say it. They didn't have the money, and she couldn't leave the manor to make the purchases anyway.

"This is degrading, I'm perfectly capable of walking," Draco's mother said as they ascended the grand staircase.

"We don't have all night, some of us actually need to sleep before sunrise," Draco replied, as they entered the Family Wing and moved down the hall to the master bedroom. On the way, he spied and picked up her lost slipper. Narcissa yawned.

"Sleep does sound appealing. I promise I won't drink as much tomorrow Draco," she mumbled, eyes already half-closed, "you know, I only want the best for you. Did I embarrass you in front of Theo? I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"I know," Draco said patronizingly, "here we are."

He rotated her slightly with a soft twist of his wand and set her down on her feet next to the massive four poster bed. The burgundy sheets were of the highest quality, of course, but they were currently a tangled mess. Narcissa promptly took a step and flopped forward onto the thick mattress, her purple robe flying up to reveal the bottom half of her naked, pale ass.

"Fuck's sake," Draco said, turning around quickly, but not quickly enough.

"Wand," his mother said face down into the mattress, holding out and absently waving one hand.

"I'll drop it off tomorrow before I leave," Draco said, retreating from the room as quickly as possible, ignoring his mother's muffled protests.

"_Colloportus_," he whispered. No need to have her wandering about in the middle of the night, looking for her wand, or more wine.

When he returned to the sitting room, Theo waved him over to their table which now boasted a bottle of firewhiskey flanked by two squat glasses.

"Figure you could use this," Theo said as he poured a pair of drinks.

"I can always count on you to raid my liquor stores at the most appropriate moment, Theo," Draco said.

Draco threw back the measure, the liquid burning is way down his throat and warming his stomach. Then he picked up the bottle and poured himself another. Theo sipped his slowly.

"I can see why you never want to come home," Theo said.

Draco shook his head.

"It's not just that, though I swear the lack of clothing is more to get a reaction out me than anything else," Draco said, "She's worse when she's on whatever latest potion she's owl-post ordered. One time I came home and she tried to curse me. I had to leave and come back after she fell asleep."

He shook his head and downed another shot.

"The worst though, worse than seeing my mother's bits, is You-Know-Who was here, for months," Draco said, "killing people, torturing people, in almost every room. Can't be healthy, being around that all the time, worrying you'll be next, or your mum, or your father. Still hear the screams sometimes…"

"Personally, my father was a git, but yes, I imagine not," Theo said, "you should at least _consider_ coming to Italy. The Mediterranean sun will do wonders for your pasty white skin."

Draco shook his head.

"Like I said, she's a pain in the arse, but she's still my mother, and basically the only family I have left," Draco said, "Father's going to die in Azkaban, so…"

He looked down at his shot glass, filled again with amber firewhiskey.

"Yeah, my life is shit," Draco said.

They commiserated over a few more shots before Draco begged off more alcohol so as not to be late the following morning. They returned the half-empty bottle to the cellar before Draco and Theo both turned in, Draco to his room and Theo to his preferred guest room.

Draco woke the next morning with a bit of fuzziness that couldn't really be called a proper hangover, which meant that he'd stopped at the appropriate point. Figuring Theo could let himself out, Draco didn't bother waking him, but he did deposit his mother's wand on the nightstand next to her bed while she slept, as promised. On the way to the orphanage he bought a pack of smokes for Darren and the others; might as well at least try to get into their good graces. As odd as muggle customs were, he didn't think an unsolicited gift would be a bad thing. Something struck him as he exchanged the paper currency for the small cardboard box with paper wrapped tobacco inside. The convenience store clerk, a boy probably no older than Draco himself, didn't sneer at him, or tell him his money was no good. He didn't know him from any of the hundreds of other muggles who came through the shop on a daily basis.

They were muggles, they were filthy and pathetic, with no magic in their blood, forced to do everything by hand… but they also didn't know anything about him. They didn't hate him for letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts, or cursing Katie Bell or Madam Rosmerta, or getting Dumbledore killed. They didn't want to kill him because his family had switched sides at the final battle, or because of the tattoo on his arm. He'd taken to covering it out of habit, but out here, nobody even knew what it meant. As he arrived at the orphanage, Draco slowly and deliberately hung his blazer in the hall closet. He felt exposed with the faded skull and snake tattoo open for anyone to see, but when Darren, Mack, and Alan arrived, they didn't even mention it. In the morning, the quartet assisted the paid staff chaperone the younger orphans in one of the indoor playrooms, occasionally helping the kids with wooden puzzles or building blocks until lunch.

"Hey," Draco said to Darren as they set up the football goals again after eating, "got you a present."

He tossed the pack of cigarettes to Darren, who caught them one-handed. Darren gave Draco an appraising look.

"Thanks mate," Darren said, pocketing them in his sweatshirt.

"Anytime," he said, "still watching that match later today?"

"Of course, coming then?" Darren replied.

"Yeah," Draco said, "plans changed."

Darren nodded.

They finished up the rest of the day with (proper) footie with the pre-teen kids, while Stephanie and her assistants set up arts and crafts. They made jewellery out of pasta, pipe cleaners, and coloured string, but Draco noted the kids seemed more interested in throwing the pasta at each other than in making disposable jewellery. Clean up was markedly quicker than the previous day's finger painting. Through it all, Draco kept waiting for someone to look at his Dark Mark or at him with disgust, but it never happened, not once. Finally, it was time to go, and Draco walked out the front with the others, retrieving his blazer from the hall closet. Darren immediately lit up a cigarette, shielding the flame from the breeze as he walked down the driveway to the street. Draco followed Darren and the others in the opposite direction from the Leaky and the entrance to the Wizarding World, and into the deepening London darkness. The three muggles chattered about the upcoming match, the players, someone who was battling an injury, but Draco couldn't really follow any of it. The buildings they passed gradually became older and more broken down, and the streets and pavement more cracked, with weeds sticking through in places and broken glass littering the sidewalk and crunching beneath their feet.

After about fifteen minutes, they parted ways with Alan and Mack, who went to pick up 'supplies', whatever that meant. Darren led Draco up to a row of four-story apartments, the front stoops spaced at regular intervals. There was very little traffic here and only a few older looking automobiles parked on the street beneath the scraggly looking trees lining the road. The two walked up the worn stone steps in front of the building and then into the dimly lit foyer. Darren unlocked the old, warped wooden outer door with a cracked glass panel and led Draco into a darkened interior stairwell. Faded and yellowed wallpaper peeled and hung down in places. He climbed up to the to the second floor, Draco close behind him, then flipped to a different key and unlocked the door to his apartment, leading Draco inside. The muggle flicked on the light switch and hung the keys on a hook by the door.

"Home sweet home," Darren said, walking into the kitchen, "drink?"

"Sure," Draco said.

The apartment was not in very good shape. A musty smell permeated the air, and the thin and worn gold carpet sported stains in several places, each a slightly different shade of brown or black. Cracks crisscrossed the white plaster walls, with some of the larger ones mostly covered up with taped posters of football players or scantily clad women. A plaid couch with partially ripped cushions sat against one wall, and a large glass and plastic box sat atop a large squat cabinet against the opposite wall. A pair of rickety wooden end tables covered with used glasses bookended the couch, and a sturdier looking coffee table with several magazines scattered across its surface sat in the middle of the room. A door on Draco's right led to a dark hallway and what he suspected was a bedroom, and to his left was a cream-tiled kitchen and probably a washroom. Curtains obscured the view from the only windows he could see, in the kitchen, overlooking the stove. Water stains marred the ceiling in places, and dirty clothing lay thrown over the back of chairs and strewn across the couch. Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"Here you go mate," Darren said, handing Draco a green glass bottle.

"Cheers," Darren said, tapping his own bottle against Draco's and taking a long swig.

Draco took a sip and it was… well it wasn't very good but it was definitely beer.

"Thanks," Draco said.

"Yeah, feel free to watch whatever," Darren said, picking up some of the discarded clothing and moving past Draco, "the others'll be over in a bit."

The hallway door closed, and Draco looked around the dingy sitting room.

"Watch whatever," he muttered.

Draco placed his beer on the coffee table and picked up one of the magazines. He was greeted by a cover of a naked brunette woman in a very strategic pose, almost but not quite revealing her naughty bits. Unfortunately, the picture didn't move. Draco opened the magazine to find the good stuff inside and flipped a few pages. The girl from the cover was really baring everything and he felt his cock twitch in response. Draco dropped the magazine back onto the table, picked up his bottle again, and took another sip.

"_Probably wouldn't be a good thing for Darren to come back out and find me with a raging hard-on looking at his girlie magazines_," Draco thought.

Now that he thought about it, it'd been over two years since he'd had any action at all, not since fifth year when Pansy had given him a handjob after curfew, a lifetime ago. Darren emerged, now wearing a short sleeved red shirt with a white collar and actually looking smarter than he usually did while working at the orphanage.

"Right," he said, tossing a similar shirt at Draco, "that one's for you."

"What?" Draco asked.

"Go on, change clothes, loo is next to the kitchen," Darren said, "might be a bit large for you but that's alright."

Draco turned the shirt over and to find a white number and a name on the back.

"_Right, it's a football jersey,_" he thought, dropping his blazer onto the back of the lone unoccupied seat in the kitchen.

In the loo, uncomfortably small with just a sink, toilet, and standing shower, Draco pulled his polo shirt over his head. The ugly purple scar from his sixth year greeted him in the mirror, running diagonally across his chest. Draco sniffed the sports jersey apprehensively, then pulled it on over his head. He checked the mirror again, ran his fingers through his hair, and adjusted the collar slightly. A muggle football fan stared back at him. Draco shook his head and headed back out into the apartment to find Mack and Alan had arrived, sporting the same style jersey. They were seated on the couch, watching the glass and plastic box which Draco quickly learned was called a 'tele'. It showed images complete with sound. Draco joined them and watched the tele with interest. The images of two men talking about the upcoming match faded away to be replaced by advertisement. Draco immediately felt a gut reaction akin to a sneer, but as he tried to think of a magical equivalent, he came up blank. Asking any of the half-dozen questions competing for attention would make him look like a fool, so he kept quiet, sat at the edge of the couch, and observed.

Several more friends of Darren's showed up over the next few minutes, all of them wearing the same red and white collared shirt, all of them bearing various junk foods or alcoholic beverages, mostly beer. Eventually eight young English men had crowded into the tiny apartment, plus Draco, and they were all apparently quite well acquainted with each other. They spread out, some pulling chairs from the kitchen and some sitting on the floor closer to the tele, but not without a bit of shoving over positions first. A steady parade to and from the kitchen kept everyone well stocked with food and beer, and they chattered about football and other things Draco tried to follow but couldn't even figure out even half of what they were saying. All he could gather was this was an important match because the red team was playing another top ranked team. Someone knocked at the front door, and Darren got up to answer.

"Mary, what are you doing here?" he asked, drawing Draco's attention.

McKay stood in the doorway wearing her jeans and leather jacket.

"Snuck out," she said, "gonna watch the match with you."

She pushed her way past Darren, who rolled his eyes.

"If Macmillian asks, you were never here. Boys this is Mary, my flatmate's sister," Darren said, "Mary, these are the boys."

An incomprehensible murmur went up from the group as Mary smirked and half-waved, then she walked over to Draco.

"Budge over," she said, squeezing between him and Alan.

Someone slipped a beer into Mary's hand and she clinked it with Draco and Alan before taking a sip. Then the match started. The parade to the kitchen stopped, and everyone stared almost unblinking at the screen. Draco tried to follow the game. He knew they wanted the red team to score, but it was clear there was a great deal of nuance to the game as the muggles reacted to plays that made little sense to him.

"Why'd they stop?" Draco asked.

"Offside. Ain't you ever seen football before?" one of the muggles asked, looking at him like he was a mentally challenged troll child.

Draco ignored the question as play started again, and resolved to keep his mouth shut going forward.

"I'll tell you later," Mary whispered to him, and he gave her the smallest of nods.

They broke for halftime with the score 0-0, everyone used the loo, then they all sat down again to watch the second half. The commentators were going on about the excellent play of the defence and keepers, while the room grew uncomfortably warm. Mary shed her jacket and nervously rubbed her forearms as she watched. Draco felt he probably would be getting a bit bored if not for the fact he still wasn't completely over his natural revulsion of muggles, that and the beers made him a bit fuzzy. A statistic flashed up on the screen and Draco did some rough calculations in his head, converting pounds to galleons.

"Hang on," Draco said, "that guy earns how much?"

"Yeah," Alan said, "and that doesn't even count the endorsements."

"Shut the fuck up," one of the other muggles said, the same one that'd told him about offside earlier. Draco severely wanted to hex the git.

The well-paid football star with the stylishly messy haircut lined up behind the white ball and took a few measured steps to the side while everyone in the room collectively held their breath. A few running steps, his shoe made contact with the ball, and it sailed through the air, curving almost impossibly, just beyond the leaping keeper's outstretched gloves, and into the top corner of the goal.

"GOAL!" the room exploded in cheers. Beer and chips flew into the air as muggles leapt to their feet. Draco could barely hear for a few seconds for all the shouting, but everyone quieted down a bit as the tele played the goal repeatedly in slow motion.

"How the hell did he make it curve like that with just his foot?" Draco asked.

"That's why he's the best fucking player in the world," Mack replied, grinning, "worth every penny."

Chatter picked up after that until the final whistle blew and the match was over. The muggles seemed to be congratulating each other on the win even though they themselves had absolutely nothing to do with it, which was almost exactly the same thing quidditch fans did. As they finished their drinks, people left by one's and two's until it was just himself, Darren, Alan, Mack, and Mary remaining.

"Right," Darren said, closing and locking the door, "time to celebrate."

He disappeared into the bedroom and emerged a minute later with a clear plastic bag filled with bits of a green plant Draco didn't recognize.

"Aww Welch, coming through in our time of need," Mack said.

Darren sat on the floor and spread out a few items on the glass coffee table. He rolled up some of the plant bits into thin paper seemingly made specifically for the purpose, and licked the edge and twisted to seal it. It looked vaguely like one of the cigarettes Draco had seen them smoking earlier. Mack put a disc into a small black box, which started emitting some kind of slow pondering music that sounded 'weird'. Darren then lit the tip and took a long drag, holding the smoke in his lungs while passing the joint to Mack, who did the same before passing to Alan.

"Can I get a hit?" Mary asked.

"Sorry Mary, I promised Bruno I wouldn't let you do anything illegal until he gets out," Darren said.

Mary pouted and crossed her arms.

"Do you smoke Drake?" Darren asked Draco as Alan held the smouldering joint out to him.

The question itself was innocent, but Draco grew up in Slytherin. This was a test to see whether Draco would be willing to break the law with them. Accept and get a bit closer to the group. Decline and forever be kept at arm's length. Despite them being muggles, despite knowing almost nothing about football or the league, the sense of belonging he'd felt just doing something as simple as sitting with a group of blokes and watching a sports match called to him. He'd been moving from one task to another on autopilot since May, doing only what was required of him, what was necessary to stay out of prison and away from the dementors. The fact he only had the manor and his mother to go home to didn't change the fact that he'd actually _enjoyed_ tonight, and he didn't want it to end just yet.

"Sure," he said, taking the joint in two fingers.

He put it to his lips and tried to suck it in, but intentionally breathing smoke is harder than it looks. Reflex took over and he coughed it all up, then cleared his throat and took a few breaths while the other three snickered and Mary smirked.

"Go ahead, try again," Darren said with an easy smile.

Draco took another pull, this time feeling the heat on his fingers and getting a decent amount in his mouth, then inhaling like he'd seen the others do. The smoke burned as he forced it deeper, but his pride refused to let him cough again. He held his breath and passed the joint back to Darren, and the four of them took turns filling the room with smoky haze until it was gone.

"Should we do another one?" Darren asked.

"Fuck it, let's smoke all of it," Alan said.

Draco nodded.

As Darren rolled up another two joints, Alan made them something in the kitchen which smelled absolutely fantastic, and Draco felt his thoughts getting slower. An ache and tenseness in his shoulders he didn't even know he had slowly relieved itself like the unspooling of a tightly wound coil, and he felt his cares and burdens melt away. The stress of the trials, the trauma of seeing his mother au naturel while fading into a shadow of her former self, of having to deal with muggles day in and day out under threat of dementors if he put even one toe out of line, the despair and hopelessness for his future, it all faded away to a low background buzz. The music which previously sounded merely weird took on an entirely ethereal presence. Mack made some joke Draco didn't even get, but he found himself snickering anyway. Right about when he started feeling hungry, Alan appeared at his side with plates full of greasy pastries stuffed with burning hot cheese, meat and Merlin knew what else, but they tasted glorious. Draco was certain he burned his mouth on the first one but he didn't care. When he got up to use the loo, he ended up weaving haphazardly before stumbling heavily into the kitchen table.

"Mate, you are so blazed right now," Darren said, laughing.

Draco joined in and laughed at himself. In the loo he stopped at the mirror and looked at his reflection, bloodshot eyes and stupid grin on his face. He looked a mess and completely didn't care. Draco didn't stop snickering until he returned through the smoky haze to the couch, throwing an arm about Mary's shoulders as he sat down. She leaned into him as Darren finished off the second joint.

"So, this stuff actually got me into a lot of trouble. It's why I'm stuck at the orphanage," Darren said, sobering up slightly for a moment, "collared for possession, twelve months' probation."

"Alan," Darren said, pointing at the skinny, dark haired boy, "is the dumbest smart kid I know. Or the smartest dumb kid, not sure."

Alan flicked a crisp at Darren, who ignored it as it bounced off his shoulder.

"He hacked into the district computers and figured out a way to change grades, then charged the other kids for it," Darren said, "Ten quid per grade. Then he bragged too much and the teachers found out."

Alan stood up and bowed dramatically, his dark hair flopping forward over his face.

"Three month's probation because I'm underage," he said.

Mack cleared his throat.

"My mate robbed a store, I was just with him at the time, stupid twat," Mack said, "but it was my car we drove off in, so I got accessory. It was either six weeks jail or six months with the kids, easy choice."

The three boys stopped talking and looked at Draco.

"_I joined the inner circle of a madman bent on killing and subjugating all of you,"_ Draco thought, "_and I thought it was the right thing to do."_

"I-" Draco started, looking around at the other three, then at Mary, all of them expectant. For the first time Draco noticed her slightly upturned button nose, and the way her eyebrows came together and her lips formed a thin line when she was concentrating. His mind idly wondered if the light freckles across her nose and cheeks went all the way down.

"_What in the actual fuck are you thinking, Draco?" _he thought.

"I tried to murder my headmaster," was what he said, looking at Mary, but she didn't react at all except to blink.

"_It was a suicide mission, because my father disgraced himself. Mother would have been tortured and executed in front of me if I failed," _he thought.

Nobody spoke.

"Damn," Darren said, breaking the silence, "how?"

Somehow, Draco expected the revelation he'd attempted to kill someone to get a bigger reaction. Perhaps it was whatever they were smoking. Draco was pretty sure if the Dark Lord himself appeared in the kitchen at that moment, he probably wouldn't even stand up, and he suspected the others felt much the same.

"What, how did I try to kill him?" Draco asked, breaking eye contact with Mary and looking over at him.

Darren nodded.

Draco looked down at his beer.

"Couple of ways, poisoned his brandy, some other things," Draco said, "but eventually I let some… unfriendly people into the school. One of them did him in."

"_Snape tried to warn me,_ _and help me. And I told him off._ _I'm such a fucking idiot_," Draco thought.

He took another swig.

"Did they catch him? The one who did it? What'd that bloke get, for murder I mean?" Alan asked.

Draco shook his head.

"Nothing. He was killed shortly afterwards," Draco replied.

Draco looked around and noticed the mood of the room had gone extremely sombre. The joint sat forgotten in Darren's hand, a thin tendril of smoke still curling up into the air. Draco chugged the rest of his beer, finishing it in seven quick gulps.

"I need some air," he announced, standing up quickly and heading out the door.

"I always said there was different laws for the sodding rich," Mack said quietly just as Draco entered the stairwell.

The cool air hit him like a blast to the face, and he felt a bit of the haziness of the room start to dissipate as he took the steps down, hanging tightly to the wooden banister. He was halfway to the ground floor when Darren's door opened again.

"Drake?" Mary said, her voice echoing around the stairwell.

"Down here," Draco said.

"The roof is better if you want air," Mary said, walking up to the railing and looking down at him from the second-floor landing.

Four stories was a lot of steps to climb. Draco considered telling her to sod off, but he wasn't really in the mood to be rude.

"Alright," he said, turning around and climbing.

By the time they reached the roof, Draco's thighs were burning, and they were both huffing a bit. He used to climb seven flights at Hogwarts every day, with no problem. Honestly, it'd only been a few months!

Mary pushed the heavy metal door at the end of the hall open. A broken padlock hung off a hook next to it. Draco stepped out into the raw England night air. Although the building was only four stories high, most of the nearby structures were the same height or shorter. From here he could see the lights of London spread out, with a cluster of tall buildings brightening up the night in the distance. The flat roof wasn't clean, but it wasn't exactly dirty either. A pile of leaves sat against one corner of the low wall which acted as a guard against falling, and the roof itself, while damp, wasn't truly wet.

"There's a good spot to sit over here," Mary said, leading Draco to the far side of the roof. She sat down with her back next to a small structure, Draco guessed it was a vent of some kind, and motioned him over. Draco sat down, deliberately putting a good bit of distance between them. He rubbed his jaw, stretched his legs out, crossed his ankles, and leaned back against the vent so he could stare at the softly glowing cloud cover. He still felt pretty good from whatever it was they'd smoked. Honestly if his probation was going to be like this for six months, he just might survive it.

"You alright?" Mary asked.

"Yeah," Draco said.

"I'm guessing your headmaster must have done something really bad to you if you wanted to kill him," Mary said.

"Nah, he just…" Draco said, "fuck, I can't even explain it."

Mary pulled out a pack of cigarettes from her jeans pocket, tapped one out, and stuck it in her mouth. She offered one to him as well.

"No thanks," Draco said, and she put the pack away.

Mary lit the cigarette and took a long drag, blowing smoke up into the night sky.

"I come up here sometimes when I realize just how screwed my life is," Mary said.

Draco didn't say anything, just watched as the intermittent puffs of smoke from Mary dissipated into nothingness. This stupid muggle knew absolutely nothing about screwed. His thoughts wandered to his own life, his own choices, other paths he might have taken. What if he'd decided to join with Dumbledore, could he have been a spy like Snape? Could he have stood up to his crazy aunt? Could he have fought?

"_Who are you kidding Draco_," he thought, "_you're not a hero. The Dark Lord was living in your bloody house. The only thing that would have happened is the He would have read your mind and found out in about three seconds that you'd betrayed him. Then you'dve been branded a blood traitor, tortured a bit, and executed."_

His thoughts were interrupted when Mary started speaking again.

"I'm going to age out soon, you know," she said, "been at the orphanage for five years. At first I was excited when we met the couples who came to visit. After a few months, I realized. Nobody wants to adopt a teenager."

"_I really don't care_," Draco thought.

"So, where will you go?" he asked, only to maintain a modicum of decency.

"Going to move in here, stay in my brother's room until he gets out of prison, hopefully later this year or early next year," Mary said, "he and Darren are best mates."

Draco nodded.

"So Callista is your sister," Draco said.

"Yes, and my brother's name is Bruno," Mary said, "actually he's my half-brother, and Callie is my half-sister. She and I share the same mum, and Bruno and I the same dad. I know, my family tree is complicated."

"You have no idea," Draco muttered.

Mary stubbed out the cigarette and looked up at a patch of sky visible through a break in the clouds.

"Drake, can I ask you something?" Mary asked.

Draco nodded.

"If you don't want to tell me that's alright but… you're really odd," she said, "not that I mind… but there's some things you just have no clue about. Common sense things. Who grows up in England and doesn't know about football?"

_Fuck._

Draco's mind raced, at least as quickly as it could while he was stoned out of his mind. She'd found him out, knew he wasn't a regular muggle, but he'd barely even talked to her, how could she know? She could clue others in. He couldn't dodge questions like this from everyone for another five and a half months, and he _definitely_ couldn't afford any potential breaches of the Statute.

"Were you injured? Car accident or something?" Mary asked.

Draco nodded, trying his best to hide his relief as she answered her own question.

"Yeah, car accident," he said, "Head injury, I forget a lot of things, common sense things."

Then inspiration struck him. He leaned a bit closer to her and lowered his voice, as if bringing her into a conspiracy.

"Honestly it's a bit embarrassing, I'd appreciate if you didn't mention anything to the others, but you know, perhaps you could help me out," he said, "maybe if I see something I've forgotten, or I don't know what something is but I think I should, I can ask you. And hopefully I'll get better over time."

He put on his best practiced genuine smile.

Mary the muggle smiled back at him.

"Alright," she said.

They sat on the roof together while Mary smoked a second cigarette. By the time she'd finished that one and stubbed it out, Draco's head had started to clear a bit, and they went back downstairs. Mack and Alan had left, and the curtains by the windows fluttered a bit as the light evening breeze helped air the place out. Mary went to use the loo while Draco changed out of the football jersey in the dark hallway leading to the bedrooms.

"Darren," Draco said emerging from the hall, "that's for sharing that… whatever the fuck it was we smoked."

Darren smirked.

"First one's free," Darren said, "unfortunately I'm all out, and I don't have any cash to buy more."

Well, that was a problem easily solved.

"How much does it cost?" Draco asked.

"Anywhere from about ten quid to hundreds, depending on the quality and how much you buy," Darren said, "why, interested?"

Draco nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out a fistful of bills.

"See what you can get with that," Draco said.

"Right," Darren said, taking the cash slowly.

"Can you get some more by Monday?" Draco said, "I'll even share it with you and Alan. Mack can go fuck himself."

Darren smirked, and Draco got the distinct feeling he shouldn't have handed the cash over right away.

"I know you're not thinking about screwing me over," Draco said, "because I know where you live."

Draco grinned to make it sound more like a joke and take the edge off the threat, but it had the desired effect as Darren nodded seriously.

"I never screw my clients," he said.

Mary emerged from the loo and Darren stuffed the money into his pocket.

"I'm knackered, going to bed," she said.

They exchanged good night's as she headed to the bedrooms.

"I'm heading off as well," Draco said, "see you Monday."

"See you Monday," Darren said, patting the pocket with the cash in it.

Yes, this probation was looking better already.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Credit to Less Wrong for the Somnium sleep spell, from Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality.

Chapter 8

Harry jumped over a low tripping jinx and barely broke stride, focusing on Ron's pale calves in front of him and increasing pace to try and catch up a bit. This was their second long run of the day, and for the first time, Mackenzie had taken to making it more challenging by giving them a time limit and forcing them to dodge the odd jinx or barrier.

"C'mon Weasley, Potter's gaining on you," Mackenzie said from in front of them and about 5 feet in the air, flying backwards atop a Cleansweep.

Harry had just about drawn even with Ron when Mackenzie levelled his wand at them again.

"_Aguamenti," _he said, and a gush of water soaked both trainees.

"This is a good method of slowing someone down or dispersing a crowd without actually hurting anyone, by the way," Mackenzie said, keeping the stream of water up as he leaned back on his broom.

The heavy gush threw off Harry's breathing and obscured his vision, not that he needed to see very well when he was running in a straight line.

"Go, sprint to the finish!" Mackenzie shouted, varying the force of the water to come at them in waves, attempting to knock them off balance.

Harry kicked up his heels and forced his legs to pump faster. He lost out to Ron's longer stride, but the two finished within a second of each other.

"Now hit the targets!" Mackenzie said, ending the water charm.

Harry looked to his left to see a pair of floating orange circles fifty feet away. He dropped to one knee, braced his wand arm with his left hand, held his breath for a second, and fired a stinging hex at the one on the right. Both circles turned green with a *ding* sound as Ron instinctively took the target on the left. Harry released his breath, waiting for the next command.

"Okay, that's enough for two weeks," Mackenzie said, descending to the ground and dismounting, "you're free until Monday at 0600 sharp, when we'll meet at the entrance to the track."

Harry took a few deep breaths, hands on knees.

"Will the others be back by then sir?" Ron asked.

"Yes, they'll have finished sometime tonight, and will probably all be back here by Sunday evening. It might be a good idea to meet them then, at least get acquainted, before training starts again on Monday morning," Mackenzie replied.

The other four members of their trainee group, whose beds still lay empty in the barracks, had been on a ten-day long survival training exercise, which Harry and Ron were exempt from because 'Dawlish figured if you could evade essentially the entire country for the better part of a year, through winter, that was good enough for him.'

Fortunately or unfortunately, this meant Mackenzie had been free to devote almost all his time to training (torturing) the two of them exclusively, and had even kept them through their first weekend. On the plus side, just the day before, Harry found for the first time he wasn't completely exhausted by the gruelling and repetitive exercises. Mackenzie had only duelled each of them once so far, on their second day, and deemed both of them 'good enough for now'. Since then, it had been a non-stop series of obstacle drills, sprints, and core strengthening exercises, broken up by meals, spellwork drills, and stealth instruction. Every spare waking moment that wasn't consumed by eating or exercises was devoted to reading and studying the massive amount of information they were expected to cram into their heads. Having caught his breath a bit, Harry began airing out his robes with a drying charm.

"How are we doing for our first two weeks sir, any advice?" he asked as the hot air made the soggy fabric flap a bit and droplets of water sprayed onto the track.

"You're behind the others, but that's to be expected. After all, they've been through their NEWTs and have been at this for over two years already," Mackenzie replied, "still, you're both well ahead of where nearly any other wizard would be after just two weeks. My suggestion is to take tomorrow off physically, but get some studying in, minimum twenty minutes, but not more than an hour."

Harry puffed up and smiled a bit at the praise. He nodded, while Ron gave a heavy sigh, presumably at the thought of studying even more.

Harry nudged Ron with his elbow.

"We'll study together, it won't be so bad," he said.

The two of them showered and changed before heading back through the floo to Grimmauld Place, Harry managing to only stumble slightly upon exiting the fireplace.

"Kreacher," Harry said, and the ancient elf appeared with a soft pop.

"Master Harry calls Kreacher," the ancient house elf said.

"Pull something together for dinner for myself and Ron please," Harry said.

"Kreacher hears and obeys," Kreacher replied with a bow, apparating away with another soft pop.

The sound of pots and pans echoed from the kitchen as Harry checked the floor by the front door to find a pair of letters there, slipped in through the mail slot. Picking them up, he recognized Hermione's perfectly slanted script on the envelope addressed to Ron, while his heart skipped a beat as he saw his own name in Ginny's familiar scrawl. He returned to the main living room to find Ron with his head stuck through the floo, and waited until he finished his call.

"All set for dinner tomorrow night at home," Ron said as he pulled his head from the fireplace.

"Excellent," Harry said, "I might need to borrow Pig tomorrow."

Ron nodded, sitting down on the couch.

"Thanks," he said as Harry passed the letter to him

"Tonks residence," Harry said, tossing in a handful of floo powder.

He knelt down and stuck his head into the green flames. With an odd disjointed sensation, he felt his vision and body stretch and compress across the floo network until he saw a vague greenish outline of Andromeda Tonks' cozy cottage appear, facing the living room couch.

"Mrs. Tonks?" he whispered.

"Harry?" Andromeda whispered, stepping into view wearing a dark robe and stocking feet, carrying Teddy, and rocking him gently, "shh, he's just fallen asleep."

Harry nodded.

"I've tomorrow off, would it be alright if I stopped by in the morning?" he asked.

"Certainly," she whispered, "we're up early, drop by anytime."

"Brilliant, good night," he said, withdrawing his head from the fireplace.

"I'm going to see Teddy tomorrow morning," Harry said, "what have you got on?"

"I'm going to sleep, until I wake up," Ron said, flipping a letter page over, "then I'll head over early, spend some time with my parents and George, think about doing some reading."

Kreacher appeared in the room with a soft pop.

"Master Harry, dinner is served," he said.

"Thank you Kreacher," Harry said.

Harry and Ron sat down to a dinner of roast lamb, baked potato, carrots, beans, and gravy, once again enjoying the fine china left behind by Sirius' family. Ron finally finished Hermione's letter between bites.

"Anything interesting?" Harry asked.

"The snakes are outcasts now. It's obvious Hermione feels bad for them," Ron said, mouth half-full of potato, "I almost do too. Almost. She's started on the research, and she's not doing much else. She tries to explain a bit of the Arithmancy here, but it's like Gobbledegook to me. We're also missing out on the 'best' Defence professor, for what that's worth. She goes on about him for half a page."

Harry smiled. Hogwarts.

"I almost wish I was back there, be a 'normal' student for once, play quidditch, go to Hogsmeade on the weekends, support Hermione," Harry said.

"_Shag my girlfriend," _he thought.

Harry shook his head.

"I know what you mean mate," Ron said, "it aches like hell but even _I_ know this is best. Can you imagine if I end up distracting her and this potion-charm thing doesn't work…"

Harry grimaced.

"I mean… I know she would make time to spend with us, so just us being there would be a distraction and even if she didn't spend time with us, she'd feel bad and then spend time thinking about how she wasn't spending time with us, which would also be distracting," Ron said, "at least this way she can focus."

Harry scrunched up his eyebrows for a moment trying to sort through the verbal confetti Ron had just spewed all over him.

"It's only for a few months mate," Harry said, "just until Christmas hols, that's what I keep telling myself. Let's try and get through this training as quick as possible, then maybe we can make it up there for a Hogsmeade weekend or two. It'd be good to see Neville, too."

Ron nodded, and they ate in silence after that, Ron deep in thought and Harry itching to open up Ginny's letter but not wanting to do so in front of her brother.

"Anyway, I'm a bit tired, see you tomorrow around 4 at the Burrow?" Harry said, "we can get some studying done ahead of dinner."

Ron nodded.

"Night Harry," he said.

Harry waved as he left the kitchen and headed for the stairs. Finally, Harry closed the door to the master bedroom and spread Ginny's letter out on the large mahogany desk opposite the massive bed.

_Dear Harry,_

_How's training going? _

_It's interesting here, there was a duel in the hallway on the first day of classes! Most of the Slytherins didn't come back this year, and there are only two first year snakes. They're all being bullied pretty badly despite what the professors do to try and promote inter-house unity. Hopefully it gets better soon because if it doesn't, someone is going to get seriously hurt. Don't worry about me though, I can take care of myself. Plus, everyone knows I'm your girlfriend and Hermione's friend and our new roommate is pretty good with a wand too, so nobody even looks at us funny. Sometimes people see us coming and just get out of our way! It makes that little voice in the back of my head smug but I promise I won't let it get to me. _

_I really miss you! Quidditch tryouts are tomorrow and we have a lot of open spots, especially without you and Ron (thanks again for lending me the Firebolt, I put up with the jokes about riding your broom because they're all true), but hopefully we can put a good squad together. Once the schedule is finalised, I'll send it to you. Try to get some free time to come for a match or two!_

_It's difficult being back here after what happened in May, especially when I walk through the corridor where Fred died, but in a way, I think it's healing as well. It still hurts to think about and I think it always will, but little by little it gets easier to deal with. _

_Enough about that, did you know Neville is apprenticed to Sprout? He seems to love it and I think he's got the makings of a good professor in him, once he gets a bit older than the students that is. _

…_I really really __really__ miss you Harry. I think about you all the time, often at night before I go to sleep, and sometimes in the morning if I have time before class. And sometimes between classes if I have the room to myself. Sometimes I wonder if you're thinking about me at the same time, and that thought warms me up from head to toe. I can't wait to see you again._

_Love Always, _

_Ginny _

_PS Hermione is really stressed but I think she's okay for now. I'll keep an eye on her and let you know if it gets serious. _

Harry put the letter down.

Fuck.

The thought of his redheaded girlfriend completely naked and writhing about on her four-poster, touching herself while thinking of him made him want to go have a wank right then and there. As he locked the letter in a drawer undressed for bed, he realized there was absolutely no way he was going to be able to sleep. Harry locked the door (just in case), lay back on the sheets, and let his hands drift down below his waistband. It didn't take long, barely more than a minute and he shuddered a few times and was finished. After vanishing up the mess, he lay down again, setting his mind to figuring out a way to spirit his girlfriend away to Grimmauld for a few hours, perhaps during a Hogsmeade weekend. He had a half-decent working plan before he drifted off to dreams of falling asleep with Ginny in his arms again.

The next morning, Harry awoke before the sun rose as he had every day for the past week and a half. It took him a moment to remember where he was, then he lay down and went back to sleep for another hour before waking again up to the smell of eggs and bacon and the sun streaming in almost horizontally through cracks in the heavy, dark curtains. Harry pulled on his jeans, trainers, and a t-shirt and made his way to the dining room, where Kreacher busied himself with a frying pan almost larger than he was. Wearing a miniature-sized white chef's apron and hat, the elderly house elf stood on tiptoe and deposited the last of the bacon on the second of two plates.

"Thank you Kreacher, it smells delicious," Harry said, sitting down at one of the place settings.

"Kreacher lives to serve the noble house of Black," Kreacher replied.

The elf bowed low, nose almost touching the ground, and apparated out, presumably back to the kitchen. Harry ate slowly, relishing the luxury of being able to savour his food as opposed to having to wolf it down as quickly as possible before the next drill started.

By the time he'd finished the eggs, bacon, toast, and orange juice, Ron still hadn't made an appearance. Harry's muscles protested a bit as he stood, but thankfully he wasn't too sore. He renewed the featherlight charm on the backpack holding his Auror textbooks and pulled on a green jumper. He considered whether to leave his holster, but seeing as he was an Auror trainee now, figured he'd better get used to it. He stripped off the jumper and pulled on the holster strap, secured his wand before concealing it again beneath the outerwear, then flooed over to the Tonks'.

Harry arrived in a cloud of soot and stumbled to one knee, brushing off his clothing. Teddy lay on a brightly coloured padded mat in front of him wearing a green onesie and pushing himself up on two hands, looking about with silvery eyes that matched Andromeda's. At the whoosh of the floo and Harry's sudden appearance, an expression of shock came over his cherubic features before he burst into tears. Andromeda Tonks, wearing a long brown and red floral skirt and a matching wool sweater, leaned over to pick him up.

"It's okay Teddy, it's just uncle Harry, see?" Andromeda said, holding Teddy upright.

Teddy sniffed a few times and burbled incoherently, but his hair changed colour to Harry's jet black. All was right with the world again.

"Good morning Andromeda," Harry said, "did he sleep well last night?"

"Morning to you too Harry," Andromeda said, "only woke up once for a bottle, then went right back to sleep. Have you eaten? We usually go for a walk in the mornings, at the park just down the road."

Harry nodded.

"Long as it's not a 5K run with stinging hexes if I go too slow," Harry said.

Andromeda chuckled and passed Teddy to him while she pulled on a pair of brown boots. Harry held Teddy under the arms for a moment, then switched him to the crook of his elbow.

"You're a natural Harry," Andromeda said, pulling out the blue buggy from near the door and folding the hood back. Harry passed Teddy back to her, then opened and held the front door while she settled him in with a blanket and a stuffed griffin. Outside the cottage, the world was silent, white, and grey with chill morning fog. Andromeda locked the door with a click and eased the buggy down the steps to the paved path, her boots tapping smartly on the stones as she walked. Harry felt his hair quickly growing damp as they descended the slight grade of the winding path through the forest, and he lost sight of the cottage in the trees and thick fog after only a hundred feet. A narrow road appeared in front of them and they crossed to the sidewalk on the opposite side and turned right.

"There are a few families along this road, their children are older though. They won't be at the park until a bit later," Andromeda said.

Harry nodded, groping for something to say, but nothing came to mind so they walked in silence through the dense fog. The forest gave way to a cleared area on their right, and they crossed the road again and onto an asphalt footpath. The fog was a bit lighter here, enough to see open fields begging to be run through. A few trees good for climbing dotted the area, and they passed a small jungle gym complete with swings and slides, sitting on grass and dirt. Everything seemed eerily forlorn with the fog shrouding the land, almost like they were in their own little world. The forest inside the park had been deliberately thinned in places, reduced to a single large tree here and there, to provide shade during warm sunny days.

"It's about a mile around, a good walk," Andromeda said.

"This is a nice place," Harry said, looking around, "it'll be perfect when he's older. We can let him run around and tire himself out, once he learns he can't just change his looks around muggles that is."

The path led around the grassy area, and they occasionally passed running trails leading off into the woods. The sun had just started to burn through the fog when Harry spotted a silhouette walking in the opposite direction, which turned from a vague darker shape into a man wearing a light brown trenchcoat and carrying an oversized camera.

Andromeda grumbled.

"That'll be Graham Winfield again," she murmured to Harry, "he works for the Prophet. He's popped up every two or three days, hoping to catch you I imagine."

"Oh Mr. Potter, what a pleasant surprise," Winfield said. Harry thought he looked familiar, then he hit on where he'd seen him before. Rita Skeeter's new photographer from Kings Cross. Looking at him closer now, Harry could see he was in his later thirties or early forties with brown scruff on his face, and his crown sported a hat which looked like a cross between a beret and something a old fashioned news boy would wear.

The photographer lifted up his camera and took a photo with a bright flash that reflected off the fog all around them. Teddy gave a little whine of concern at the commotion.

"Do you mind, I'm trying to have a walk with my godson," Harry said.

"Oh is that little Edward Lupin?" Winfield asked, "would you mind holding him for a photo? Our readers would love to see the family man side of you Mr. Potter."

"I would mind, thank you very much," Harry said. He gritted his teeth and forced his annoyance down. He wanted nothing better than to wipe the knowing grin off Winfield's face but he couldn't let the man provoke him; that would only make things worse.

"Bugger off Winfield," Andromeda said.

"It's a public park, Mrs. Tonks," Winfield replied, "I've just as much a right to be here as you."

The two of them started to argue, but Harry was distracted. He thought he'd heard a soft pop nearby, like apparition. He heard rather than saw a spell coming at them through the woods to their right, branches snapping in its wake. Harry shoved Andromeda to the ground and purposefully fell in the opposite direction, and a jet of blue passed between them and grazed Winfield on the arm.

"Ow! Merlin, what was that?" the photographer shouted, sitting down on his behind and clutching the wound with one hand. Harry reached into his jumper and whipped his wand out of its holster.

"_Protego,"_ he said, throwing up the most powerful shield he could to protect the buggy, holding it steady as he got to his feet.

"_Homenum revelio_," Andromeda said, sweeping her wand side to side, "there's only one, about forty feet away, that way!"

A fog shrouded form leaned out from behind a tree trunk and unleashed another jet of blue light, a reductor curse, which ricocheted off a tree with a bang, scattering bits of bark.

"Mrs. Tonks, protect Teddy," Harry said, "_Reducto!_"

The trunk the attacker was using for cover exploded in a shower of wood, causing the entire tree to groan and fall to the ground. Leaves scattered and fluttered through the air. The attacker, Harry was almost certain it was a man, walked haltingly forward through the woods, wand twisting and snapping off cutting hexes, bludgeoning curses, and stunning spells, and Harry was forced to use a shield to deflect or absorb most of them to make sure nothing got through to Andromeda and Teddy. A flash went off behind Harry, and dimly he realized Winfield was taking photographs instead of helping.

Harry growled in frustration at the idiocy of the man. He side-stepped a spell aimed at his head rather than shielding to give himself an opening.

"_Diffindo," _he said, aiming high with a lateral swish, slicing through several branches and causing them to fall on their attacker, who didn't even try to get out of the way.

Harry took advantage of the distraction by firing a wordless leg-locker jinx which hit his attacker dead centre, causing him to topple over, much like the tree had done.

"_Confringo,_" the man said from the ground, and Harry used a wordless protego, focused near the tip of his wand with a flourish, to deflect the potent blasting curse up into the air with a ringing _*ping* _that made his entire arm vibrate.

"_Incarcerous, Expelliarmus, Stupefy_," Harry said, forcing his wand arm to move through the pain, quickly binding, disarming, and stunning the immobile attacker and then catching his wand as it sailed end over end through the air.

Another flash went off just as his hand closed around the bit of wood, and Harry spun with a wand in each hand, ready to continue fighting. He held off as he saw Andromeda had already moved between him and Winfield, one fist clenched by her hip and the other holding her wand outstretched towards the photographer's face.

"Take another photograph Winfield, I dare you. I've always wanted to try out some of the more _interesting_ curses from my old family's library," Andromeda said, voice cold and deadly and her wand twisting to accent her point.

The photographer looked like he might call her bluff, but then apparently decided his paycheck only went so far.

"Who is that?" he asked, motioning towards the trees.

Harry turned on his heel and strode to the edge of the woods.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," he said with a swish and flick, levitating the bound and unconscious form of their attacker through the forest to them as Winfield moved to stand next to him.

The attacker looked young and a bit stocky, and wore a muggle ski mask to conceal his identity. Harry pulled off the mask to reveal the sandy coloured hair and familiar features of someone he knew quite well.

"Is that Seamus Finnigan, your former roommate at Hogwarts?" Winfield asked, camera drifting towards his face.

"Yeah, but he must be under the Imperius," Harry said, using a single finger to force the camera down again, "Seamus is my friend."

Harry looked over at Winfield and saw the upper sleeve of his trenchcoat stained red.

"You're bleeding a bit," Harry said.

"Oh," Winfield said, poking at the cut for a few seconds, "it's just a flesh wound."

The reporter started putting a bit of pressure on his shoulder to staunch the bleeding.

"What's more important is why would anyone imperius one of your friends and attack you here?" he asked, "Do you have any theories, Mr. Potter?"

Andromeda stepped forward, moved Winfield's hand from his shoulder, and waved her wand a few times over the cut, patching it up almost instantly.

Winfield's eyebrows shot up and his mouth dropped open at the freely offered healing.

"Thank you, Mrs. Tonks," he said.

"You're welcome," she said, "stop being such a cad, Winfield."

A few theories swam through Harry's head, one of which was Winfield doing the deed himself to get a few good photographs and an exciting story. Hopefully Seamus would be willing to fill in some of the blanks.

"I have a few ideas," Harry replied, "you might need to come down to the Ministry to make a statement. For now, we need to get out of here, its too exposed. Andromeda, I'll meet you at the cottage. Are you okay to side-along with Teddy?"

Andromeda nodded, and lifted the baby from the buggy before Harry shrank it with a wordless _reducio_ and picked it up.

"Winfield, I suggest you get out of here too, go somewhere public, like Diagon," Harry said.

Winfield looked around at the park again and nodded, immediately apparating out with a loud crack, fog swirling in his wake.

"We go together," Harry said, putting a hand on Seamus, "three, two, one."

They both turned and popped back to the cottage, which looked much the same as when they left it. The fog in this part of the forest had now nearly completely burned off, and the sun streamed through green and yellow leaves, leaving mottled patterns on the ground. Harry watched carefully as Andromeda unlocked the door and held it open for Harry to move Seamus inside, sealing them all behind the building's wards when she locked the door again.

"You're sure he's your friend?" Andromeda asked, looking down at Seamus' unconscious form.

"Absolutely," Harry replied, "I hope I didn't hurt him. Maybe whoever sent him hoped I would, or vice-versa."

He looked up at Andromeda.

"I think you and Teddy should stay behind the wards as much as you can, until this is sorted out," Harry said.

Andromeda nodded.

"I agree," she said, "I don't want to think about whoever sent him waiting and watching every day for the past who knows how long. Or even worse, what if they weren't and we got lucky today and you happened to be here."

Harry nodded.

"Hopefully when Seamus wakes up, he can tell us what happened," Harry said, "I've got to get him to St. Mungo's, maybe they can help, and then I have to report this to the DMLE."

Andromeda nodded.

"You go, we'll be fine here," she said, unshrinking the buggy with a few swirls of her wand.

Harry tossed a handful of powder into the fireplace.

"St. Mungo's," he said, then levitated Seamus' body through, before stepping through himself.

The reception room bustled with visitors and patients waiting to be seen. A small child, perhaps seven or eight years of age, with misshapen bloody feathered wings sprouting from his back, cried and his mother tried to console him in vain. One of the other visitors, a dark-haired man perhaps thirty years old, sang an off-key rendition of some Scottish folk song, in Gaelic, apparently completely unable to stop as he kept making apologetic motions to those near him.

Harry walked up to the plump blond witch sitting behind a counter, beneath a sign marked 'Reception', towing a floating unconscious Seamus behind him.

"Harry Potter, checking in Seamus Finnigan, likely under the Imperius curse," Harry said.

The blonde witch pressed a button on a small box in front of her, which gave out a soft belching noise as it spit out a pin with the word visitor emblazoned in bold blue letters on the front.

"Level four," she said, handing the visitor pin to Harry, who stuck it through his jumper.

Having been there several times before, Harry knew exactly where to go. He levitated Seamus left of the reception counter, dodging the singing patient on the way, and entered the large lift and pressed the button for Level 4, Spell Damage. The doors opened to a much quieter reception area with shiny white floors, and Harry went right past the front desk to a triage area with over a dozen wheeled cots, each with blue hanging privacy curtains surrounding them. A central station held several doctors and nurses scribbling notes and sending parchment flying to other rooms or floors. Harry pressed a button on a small box near the entrance, and a slip of paper with the words 'Bed 15' appeared, again with a soft belching sound. Harry levitated Seamus to the correct cot and lay him down on it, still keeping him tied up. Since there weren't many patients in the ward at the moment, a doctor came over almost immediately. Her long black hair was tied back in a ponytail, and her deeply tanned skin contrasted sharply with her white lab coat. Most odd were the green tinted silver spectacles she wore. The name tag on her left breast pocket identified her as Dr. Yarr, and she carried a clipboard and parchment in one hand, and a quill in the other.

"Mr. Potter, to what do we owe the pleasure?" she asked.

"My friend Seamus, I think he's been put under the Imperius," Harry said, "he attacked me and a few others just now, out of nowhere."

Dr. Yarr hmmed and cast a few diagnostic spells, her wand waving in fluid motions over Seamus' head and abdomen. She stopped and pressed her wand onto a crevice on the bed and restraints sprung out to bind Seamus's arms, legs, chest, and forehead tight to the mattress.

"You can release him, I'm going to wake him up and take a closer look," she said, "step behind the curtain so he can't see you, if you please, Mr. Potter."

"_Finite," _Harry said, cancelling his binding spell and with a sound of metal hooks sliding through the ceiling runners, drew the dark blue curtain in front of himself.

"_Rennervate,_" Dr. Yarr said.

Harry heard Seamus gasp as the spell forcibly woke him up.

"What happened?" Seamus asked, "where am I?"

"Hi Seamus," Dr. Yarr said, "you're at St. Mungo's, and my name is Dr. Laura Yarr. You were in an accident. How do you feel?"

"Err," Seamus said, "a bit bruised, actually."

There was the sound of a little bit of struggle against the restraints that held Seamus.

"Why am I tied down?" he asked.

"We'll get to that in a minute," Dr. Yarr said, "what's the last thing you remember, Seamus?"

It was quiet for a moment while Seamus thought.

"Err, I'd eaten breakfast with me mam, and went for a morning run," he said, "ahh, I remember leavin', but not comin' back."

There was silence, followed by the sound of a scratching quill.

"What do you think of Harry Potter?" Dr. Yarr asked.

"He was my roommate at Hogwarts, friend of mine, good bloke to be around when he wasn't bein' hunted by Death Eaters or off savin' the world from You-Know-Who, why?" Seamus asked.

Dr. Yarr pulled back the curtain to reveal Harry, and Seamus' expression went from recognition to hostile in an instant. He struggled against the restraints and glared at Harry, gritting his teeth and growling like a wild dog or wolf.

"Come on Seamus, fight it," Harry said quietly, but Seamus only pulled harder. The skin on his arms began to turn red from chafing and he showed no sign of letting up.

"_Somnium,"_ Dr. Yarr said, instantly putting Seamus to sleep.

"It's almost certainly the Imperius curse," Dr. Yarr said, "unfortunately there's no known way to break the spell until it weakens enough over time and he fights it off himself. We'll have to keep him here until then, just in case he's been given other instructions."

Harry nodded.

She paused for a second and frowned, placing a hand on his forearm.

"I'm sorry this happened to you Mr. Potter, if anyone deserves some peace and quiet, it's you," she said.

Harry shook his head.

"Peace and quiet sounds nice, maybe one day," he said.

Dr. Yarr nodded and made a few more notes.

"We'll contact you if there's any change in his condition," she said, "and we'll notify his family he's here as well."

"Thank you," Harry said, giving Seamus one last glance as he left the ward.

He made his way back down to the first floor where the singing patient was still going, though he sounded much hoarser than when Harry had entered.

"Ministry of Magic," Harry said, tossing powder into the fireplace and stepping through.

He strode quickly through the Atrium, all but deserted on Sunday morning, and nearly went to submit his wand for inspection before remembering his status as an Auror Trainee meant he could keep it. He changed direction and took the lift to level 2.

Auror headquarters was nearly deserted as well, except for a few cubicles still lit by the overhead globes. He wasn't exactly sure where to go to report the use of an unforgivable, but then he saw the light streaming from the office at the end of the hall. If ever there was a time to take advantage of his fame, this was it. He walked straight past the cubicles to Dawlish's office and knocked on the doorframe.

"Sir?" he said, peering inside, but the office was empty. A deserted coffee mug sat on the cluttered desk, with a neat round spot next to it where a pot might fit. Perhaps Dawlish had gone for a refill?

Harry stepped into office and looked around, his attention drawn to the moving black and white photographs on the bulletin board to his left. Several of them had a bright red 'X' through them, and Harry understood that to mean they'd been caught or killed. He recognized some of the remaining individuals, Death Eaters still at large. They were arranged in some kind of organization, with Augustus Rookwood at the top. Beneath him were Avery, Mulciber, and Travers, and off to one side were Alecto Carrow, and Rastaban and Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Potter? What are you doing here, I thought Mackenzie gave you the day," Dawlish asked from the door, a fresh pot of coffee in one hand.

"I was attacked," Harry said, "and it's going to be all over this evening's Prophet."

"Attacked? When, how?" Dawlish asked, moving behind his desk and pouring another cup.

"I was out with Andromeda Tonks and Teddy Lupin, my godson," Harry said, shaking his head when Dawlish offered him a coffee, "a reporter from the Prophet was bothering me for an interview when were ambushed by… by my friend Seamus, he's at St. Mungo's now. Someone put him under the Imperius."

"Nobody was injured?" Dawlish asked.

"Not really," Harry replied, "the reporter, Winfield I think his name was, took a graze from a cutter, but Mrs. Tonks healed it up. Oh, I dropped a tree branch on Seamus but he's fine, physically anyway."

"Alright, I'll arrange for a press release," Dawlish said, stifling a yawn and rubbing his jaw, "at least we can keep the papers satisfied for the time being."

"_Now or never," _Harry thought.

"Sir, could we have some protection for Mrs. Tonks and Teddy?" Harry asked, "whoever is behind this is still out there and I'm worried they might try again."

Dawlish sighed and shook his head.

"Sorry Potter, we're understaffed as it is, and it almost seems like everyone knows it and wants to take advantage," Dawlish said, "crime is through the roof, we've all got our hands full just making sure looting and feuds don't lead to outright riots or murder at the same time as we're supposed to be rooting out the rest of Voldemort's inner circle. Do you have any idea who was behind it?"

Harry gestured to the corkboard of Death Eaters.

"Take your pick," he said, "so we're just going to leave them exposed?"

"Maybe we could send a warder over to make sure they'll hold up long enough for us to get there," he said, "but that's the best I can do."

Harry nodded and Dawlish paused for a moment in thought.

"Harry, have you used a pensieve before?" Dawlish asked.

"Yes," Harry replied, "Dumbledore had one in his office."

"I'd like to view the memory of the attack, if you're willing," Dawlish said, "do you know how to extract it?"

Harry nodded and pulled out his wand, bringing the memory of the morning's attack to the front of his mind while Dawlish opened a hidden panel on the wall behind his desk to reveal a familiar looking rune covered stone bowl. He slid the stone pensieve out on a pair of rails as Harry finished pulling out the silvery thread containing his memory. Harry drifted his wand over the bowl and let the thread sink into the mist. Dawlish nodded and the two of them plunged headfirst into the misty memory.

It started as they approached Winfield.

"Good reflexes," Dawlish said as Harry dodged the surprise attack from the forest, "and good cover of the baby."

They watched through the memory until Harry won the skirmish and caught Seamus' wand.

"Stop," Dawlish said, "there, after the duel, when you turn around to face Winfield, and Mrs. Tonks is threatening him."

The memory backed up a few seconds and then started again. Dawlish pointed up above Andromeda and Winfield.

"I don't see anything except fog," Harry said.

"Exactly," Dawlish said, "look at the fog."

Harry watched the memory again, and just as he turned in response to Winfield's camera flash, he saw what Dawlish had noticed. A bit of the fog curling about, almost like the wake of a boat. Something invisible was moving through the air about ten feet above Andromeda and Winfield as they argued.

"I'd bet your future salary that whoever put the Imperius on your friend stayed to watch their handiwork, disillusioned, on a broom perhaps," Dawlish said, replaying the memory again and studying the telltale curl of fog.

"Shit," Harry breathed, "they were right there, and we had no idea. They could have done anything, why didn't they?"

Dawlish shook his head.

"Orders maybe," he said, "hard to say."

The memory ended and the pair found themselves back in Dawlish's office. Harry fished the memory out of the bowl and pressed it back into his head. His skin crawled with the knowledge of how close he and Teddy had been to an unknown enemy.

"I'd feel better if that warder could get over there today, sir," Harry said, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

"I agree," Dawlish said.

He scrounged around his desk for a piece of parchment, scribbled a note on it, signed it, then tapped it twice with his wand. It folded itself into an airplane and went flying off, turning right outside the door.

"I've given it top priority," he said, "now you need to go fill out an incident report, Auror Trainee Potter. They're in the DMLE proper, opposite side of the lifts."

Harry nodded.

"Thank you sir," Harry said.

Dawlish nodded and went back to reading through the open report at the top of the pile of folders and parchment on his desk while Harry exited his office and turned towards the lift. His thoughts turned to Andromeda and Teddy though. He could fill out an incident report after the warder showed up, but until then they were almost totally exposed. Lost in thought and concern, Harry almost didn't notice the bald, slightly overweight figure of Captain Robards on his way in.

"Potter? What are you doing here, brown-nosing already?" Robards asked.

Harry took a moment to register the insult.

"What's your problem with me, Robards?" Harry asked, glaring up at the taller man.

"What's your problem, Captain," Robards corrected, "and I'll tell you exactly my problem, if you can avoid attempting your completely inept legilimency this time."

Robards paused a moment, perhaps he was waiting for Harry to apologize? If he was, he'd be waiting for a while.

"How did someone like _you_ defeat You-Know-Who?" Robards asked, "any of the marked Death Eaters are a match for a fully trained Auror, some even two or three, and the Dark Lord himself was leagues above them. Only Dumbledore ever duelled him to a standstill."

Robards sneered down at Harry.

"Then along you come, a kid still in school, 'The Chosen One'. Duelled Voldemort in front of a crowd of people and defeated him easily. Then two weeks ago you lost to me, just as easily. You tell me now Potter, could I have taken the Dark Lord, even on his worst day?"

Robards' face steadily grew redder as he spoke, until with the last sentence a bit of spittle flew from his mouth as he pointed to his chest and then to Harry. Harry found himself shaking his head unconsciously. Robards was experienced and well-trained for sure, but Voldemort and Dumbledore were at an entirely different level, as far beyond either of them as they were beyond a third-year student.

"Then how, Potter?" Robards asked, as if he already knew the answer, "if you can't even stand up to a single Auror, how could _you_ have duelled the Dark Lord in single combat and won?"

"I can't tell you," Harry said, shaking his head.

The horcruxes and the Deathly Hallows were not common knowledge. Only a select few knew about them, less than a handful, and if the secrets were to get out, it could have huge repercussions as people went looking to find them or attempted to repeat Riddle's path to immortality.

Robards straightened his shoulders.

"Something doesn't smell right, Potter. I don't think you're as squeaky clean as the Minister makes you out to be. Sooner or later you'll slip up, and when you do, I'll be there," he said.

The Harry was at a loss for words as Robards walked past him and into one of the offices lining the wall. He kicked at the rug as he exited the Auror Headquarters and made his way to the lift.

Harry flooed back to the Tonks' directly from the Ministry to find Teddy being pushed around the living room in his buggy by Andromeda. She held a finger to her lips in a shushing motion, and Harry crept over to the buggy to see Teddy fast asleep inside, sucking his thumb. Andromeda levitated the buggy up the steps while Harry waited in the living room alone, nervously fingering his wand. After a minute, Andromeda returned downstairs.

"Hello Harry," Andromeda said quietly, "everything alright?"

Harry nodded and sighed.

"Tea?" she asked.

"Yes, please," Harry said, following her into the kitchen.

The small kitchen was homely but tastefully decorated. A stove and oven sat against one wall, along with a fridge and microwave oven. A window with cheery yellow curtains looked over the sink and into the forest in back of the cottage. A black back door sat shut near a counter and cupboards, facing the thick forest behind the cottage.

Harry sat down at the wooden table and pulled out a pair of sickles while Andromeda busied herself with the tea.

"Listen, Andromeda," Harry said, "I found something important when I looked at the memory of the attack in a Pensieve. There was someone else there, disillusioned, probably on a broom."

Andromeda paused while making the tea before continuing.

"I'm not leaving the cottage," she said.

Harry shook his head.

"No, I wouldn't ask that," Harry said, "Head Auror Dawlish is sending over a warder to increase your defences, hopefully today."

Andromeda nodded.

"What do you think they wanted, whoever was disillusioned?" she asked, bringing over a pair of saucers with hot water and biscuits.

"I'm not sure, but I want you to be able to contact me if something happens, if you need help. A patronus can be tricky to pull off, so…" he said.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, leaving it just as messy as before.

"When I was at Hogwarts, a friend of mine used a Protean Charm to enchant some coins. When one of them was transfigured with a message, the others heated up and showed the same message," he said, "I'm pretty sure I can pull it off on a single coin, and then if you're in trouble, if you can't get away, you can transfigure a short message onto it, and I'll be here with the Aurors as quickly as I can."

Andromeda let her tea steep for a moment before blowing on it softly and taking a sip.

"Alright Harry, for your peace of mind," she said, "blood wards are powerful. I honestly think the existing wards would give me plenty of time to apparate away with Teddy if someone tries to break through them, but if it lets you sleep easier at night…"

She smiled at him. Harry was suddenly struck by how beautiful she still could be when the weight of her losses and heavy responsibilities weren't crushing her.

He spent several hours charming the sickles while Andromeda made sandwiches for lunch. It was harder than it looked and he had to mentally give credit to Hermione for figuring it out and placing it on so many coins for the DA, three years ago now. On the first try he'd over done the heating charm and burned a black circle into the table. The second try didn't work at all, but the third try was the charm, so to speak.

Andromeda transfigured the sickle to change the wording around the edge, and Harry's heated up and mirrored the change.

"Brilliant," Harry said, glancing over at the clock mounted on the wall. He was supposed to be at Ron's in fifteen minutes.

They tested the sickles a few more times to make sure they worked properly, and Harry was about to send a patronus to Ron letting him know he couldn't make it to dinner when there was a knock at the front door.

Harry got up first and drew his wand.

"Stay behind me," he said, moving to the front door.

He checked the peephole and spied a short, bald elderly man with mostly white hair about the sides of his head, wearing spectacles and dark robes, and carrying a brown leather briefcase.

"I think it's the warder," Harry said.

He cracked open the door.

"Ah, good afternoon Mr. Potter," the bald man said, his moustache twitching as he spoke, "I'm Mr. Winters, of Wards and Walls Inc."

Harry opened the door wider.

"Thank you Mr. Winters, for coming over on such short notice," Harry said, shaking the slight man's hand as he entered.

Winters waved him away.

"All in a day's work. Ah, this must be Mrs. Tonks, pleasure to meet you," Winters said.

He bowed and kissed her knuckles, drawing a tight smile from her.

"I understand you're fearing an attack? Blood wards would be safest, but you'll have to admit those who are allowed through individually by having them submit a sample before they'll be able to get into the house without dropping the wards," he said, "and you'll need to apply for the license from the Ministry within thirty days."

"Thank you, Mr. Winters, I think standard blood wards will do nicely," Andromeda replied.

"I'll need to place the anchors for the wards," Winters said, "We try to make them as unobtrusive as possible."

The little man withdrew several dark coloured rune covered ellipsoid stones from his briefcase and laid them on the coffee table. He then picked up a pair and started wandering about the cottage, tapping on walls and floors with his wand. Harry and Andromeda followed him around as he placed stones about the house. As he did so, each stone sank into the wall or floor it was placed against until it was almost flush against the surface, only displaying a single rune out of the dozen or so which were carved onto them. Finally, after nearly an hour, he looked satisfied.

"This one is the anchor stone," Winters said, pointing to a stone embedded in the centre of the first floor, "you can activate or deactivate the wards by pressing your finger onto this rune here."

He pointed at the rune without actually touching it himself. Andromeda seemed to be familiar with how the wards worked because she simply nodded.

"Thank you Mr. Winters," she said.

"Now all we need is a drop of blood from anyone who should be able to pass through," he said.

"Just myself and Harry," Andromeda said, "Teddy is napping, I'll do his later."

"Just a single drop will do, right on the stone," Winters said, handing each of them a small piece of metal which looked a bit like an arrowhead. Andromeda quickly stabbed it into the middle finger of her left hand and squeezed out a drop onto the anchor stone. Harry looked at the arrowhead tool for a moment before following suit, pricking the pad of his finger with it. It hurt, but not as bad as he'd expected. He squeezed out a single drop of blood, which clung to his finger before dropping onto the ward stone. The crimson liquid splashed neatly in the centre of the dark stone, then sank in, almost as if it was consumed or absorbed.

"_Episky,"_ Harry said, pointing his wand at his fingertip and sealing the tiny wound up nicely. Andromeda wordlessly healed hers with a wave of her hand.

"And that's that," Winters said, snapping his briefcase shut and picking it up.

"Thank you again Mr. Winters, for coming over on short notice," Harry said.

"I'll send the invoice via owl," Winters said, "discounted due to the request from the DMLE, of course."

Harry shook hands with Winters again as the frail man stepped out the front door while Andromeda waved from the living room.

Once he was gone, Andromeda pressed the rune on the anchor stone to activate the wards. She looked around and nodded in satisfaction.

"Are they working?" Harry asked.

"You should be able to feel them," Andromeda said.

Harry concentrated for a moment, and he thought he felt slightly safer, and warmer, but it could have just been his mind playing tricks on him.

"I'm not sure," he said.

"They're working," Andromeda said.

Harry nodded.

The clock chimed from the kitchen.

"Thanks for lunch, Andromeda," Harry said, "but now I have to report this to the Ministry."

He paused for a moment, looking at the older woman.

"Harry, we'll be safe," she said.

"I know it just… it seems like it isn't enough," Harry said, "maybe I'm turning a bit paranoid, but I've never had something… someone so important and so vulnerable to protect before."

Andromeda gave a shaky sigh as her silvery eyes grew a bit glassy.

"I know Harry. I know how it feels," she said, "but you still have responsibilities, and Teddy, and myself, we'll both be safer once you take care of them."

Harry nodded.

"Right," he said, "right."

He felt like he should reach out to Andromeda, but she didn't really seem like the type to accept physical displays of affection, but he still felt he had to do _something._

"I wish I could have saved them," he whispered, blinking as his own vision starting to blur, then he quickly turned back to the fireplace and tossed a handful of powder in.

"Ministry of Magic," he said, and the flames roared and turned green.

Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and turned at the last moment to see Andromeda hugging herself about the waist looking for all the world like she was refusing to admit she was on the verge of tears.

"Thank you Andromeda," he said, stepping through the floo.

On his third trip through the Atrium for the day, Harry paused for a moment by the reflecting pool to calm down a bit, then took the lift back up to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Turning away from the Auror HQ, he headed to the DMLE proper. There, he was greeted by a waiting room with dark blue carpeting and white ceiling. Several seats lined the back wall, all of them occupied with witches and wizards waiting to be called, and a row of wooden booths and glass windows faced the entrance. Only one of the booths was currently lit, and Harry stood in a queue for about ten minutes before he was able to approach. A bald middle-aged man wearing glasses of thick black frames looked up at him.

"Harry Potter, here to report an attack," he said.

"Fill out an incident report over there," the man said, pointing to Harry's right.

Harry spotted a desk and a cabinet of file drawers, each of them labelled with a different type of crime. Three people were already at the desk, scratching away with quills on parchment. The forms themselves ranged from theft of property, to trespassing, to assault, and a number of other common complaints.

Harry picked the general incident report and began filling it out. There were dozens of fields and he had to dip his quill a number of times before he was finished with the main form. Then he realized there was a supplemental form for injury, and another form for spells being cast in a muggle area, even though there were no witnesses. His stomach was grumbling again by the time he'd finished, piled everything into one stack, stood in line again, and slid it to the clerk beneath the glass window.

The man quickly leafed through the forms and paused on the main page.

"You're an Auror Trainee?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry replied.

The clerk sighed.

"You need to fill out the Auror report log forms, they're entirely different," the clerk said, "didn't they teach you that?"

"Err, it's only my second week," Harry said.

"Hang on, I'll get them for you," the clerk said, disappearing into a back room. He reappeared a moment later with a stack of parchment. Harry looked at the full inch high stack of parchment with dismay; he'd be here for at least another hour filling all of that in. There was nothing for it though; he knew once he returned to training, he probably wouldn't have the time, so he started with his name at the top again.

Over an hour later, with his hand cramping, he signed his name with a flourish at the bottom of the main form. The Auror incident reports had spaces for citations of the operating code, which Harry had struggled with, and he had to look some of them up in the textbooks he'd brought with him.

Finally, he queued again and turned the stack into the clerk, who leafed through the pages.

"Alright," he said, stamping the parchment, "here's your incident file number."

He passed a slip of paper to Harry with the day's date followed by a number 36, which Harry tucked into his jeans pocket. Wearily, he headed back down to the Atrium and to the floo fireplaces.

"The Burrow," he said, tossing the floo powder, causing the fire to roar and turn green.

He arrived at the Weasleys' to a scene he thought he'd never see. Ron, sitting at the living room table alone with an open book and parchment in front of him, taking notes.

"There you are," Ron said, putting his quill down, "Mum! He's here!"

"Hello Harry!" Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen, "Ron, go fetch your father from the shed please!"

Ron motioned to Harry with his head and Harry dropped his bag next to the table and followed Ron outside into the chill air of the deepening dusk. They walked around the Burrow to the shed where Mr. Weasley liked to tinker with his muggle contraptions.

"What happened mate, you were supposed to be here hours ago," Ron asked.

"Long story," Harry replied, "we were attacked. Someone put Seamus under the Imperius, he's in St. Mungo's now."

"What?" Ron said, clearly about to ask for more details.

"I'll tell everyone together," Harry said, "Andromeda and Teddy are fine though, and we had a blood ward specialist over there today to set up additional protection."

They arrived at the shed, light spilling out from under the door.

Ron knocked and opened the door.

"Dad, Harry's here, dinner," he said.

"Harry, come in, come in," Mr. Weasley said, "maybe you can help me with something."

Harry smiled wearily and stepped into the shed. Hooks dotted the wooden walls at evenly spaced intervals, most of them with various muggle appliances or tools hanging from them. Two worktables sported partially disassembled microwave ovens, a motorcycle engine, and a television set, and several other bits of muggle technology Harry couldn't identify.

Mr. Weasley sat underneath a glowing ball of bright yellow light which almost imitated the sun and cast a warm, cosy glow all about the shed. In his hands he held an electric egg beater.

"I gather it's supposed to spin when I pull this trigger, but nothing happens," Mr. Weasley said, pulling on the switch with an audible clicking sound, "any idea what's wrong with it?"

Harry took a look at the egg beater, turning it over in his hands and fiddling with the dials and buttons a bit.

"Perhaps it needs to be plugged in, or charged," Harry said, pointing to the small hole on the rear of the appliance.

"Ah, it only works with electric?" Mr. Weasley said, furrowing his brow and frowning.

"'Fraid so," Harry replied, handing it back.

"Well, something to figure out another time," Mr. Weasley said.

He placed the egg beater back on the workbench, doused the light, and led the way out of the shed. Once they were all out, he carefully charmed the door shut with a _colloportus._

"It would be fantastic if we could figure a way to get magic and electric to work together," Mr. Weasley said as they hiked back to the house, "don't you think Harry?"

"It certainly would make life easier for muggleborns," Harry said.

"Would it really?" Ron said, "can't they just do everything they need to with magic?"

"Everything they need to I guess, but not everything they'd want to," Harry said, "erm…"

He pondered for a moment, looking for a way to put it that Ron would understand.

"Okay, imagine you moved to another country, and you couldn't watch the Cannons play there," Harry said, "instead, they have other sports that you're not really familiar with. In fact, you couldn't even get news about any quidditch at all except what you hear from us when we write. D'you think you'd miss it?"

Ron nodded.

"It's kind of the same thing with muggleborns and their whole life," Harry said.

Ron was quiet for a few seconds.

"I never really thought about it like that," Ron said, "d'you think that's how Hermione feels?"

Harry had no idea how to answer that question, loaded with implications as it was. Thankfully, he was spared having to when they arrived at the house and Mrs. Weasley met them at the front door.

"There you are, I was about to go out there myself," she said, "Arthur, you weren't badgering Harry about your muggle junk again, were you?"

"'Course not," Mr. Weasley replied, "just saying hello, we haven't spoken in weeks."

They moved to the dining table which was already set with a chicken roast, mashed potatoes, carrots, corn and gravy. The table felt abnormally large with just the four of them; they only occupied one end and the other remained bare and empty.

"Alright mate," Ron said, "everyone's here, what happened today?"

"Wait, where's George?" Harry asked.

"Oh, when he found out you were coming over for dinner, he left for the shop," Ron said, "err, good thing, I figure, at least he's out of the house for a change."

Harry nodded while Molly and Arthur traded glances and shifted uncomfortably. He'd have to address the issues George had with him at some point, but he couldn't do it until George was ready. As long as the rest of Ron and Ginny's family were supportive, he had other priorities.

"It started when Andromeda and I took Teddy for a walk at a muggle park nearby their house…"

Harry recounted the story of the attack on himself and Andromeda, meeting Graham Winfield the reporter, unmasking Seamus and bringing him to St. Mungo's, finding out about the additional flying and disillusioned individual in the Pensieve, and putting up the additional wards around the Tonks' house. He left out the bit about meeting Robards at Auror HQ; he figured he'd tell Ron about that later.

"And that's about it," he said, "also, the Ministry forms are…. insanely complicated."

Mr. Weasley smiled and shook his head, then nodded in silent commiseration.

"Blimey," Ron said, "d'you think Seamus will be okay?"

Harry nodded.

"He seemed normal enough when he couldn't see me," Harry said, "he just has to shake off the Imperius, and the doctors at St. Mungo's are the best."

"I'm glad you're alright Harry," Mr. Weasley said, "although the fact someone else was there, observing, is concerning."

"You don't suppose it was all to get a good story for the Prophet, do you?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head.

"I thought about that too, but it's too risky, even for Skeeter," Harry said, "eventually Seamus will be free of the Imperius, and hopefully then he'll be able to tell us who attacked him. The only people I could think who might do something like that are the ones who already have a life sentence in Azkaban."

A few seconds passed in silence as everyone chewed, consumed by their own thoughts.

"How's work, Arthur?" Molly asked, tactlessly breaking the silence and changing the subject.

"Very busy," Mr. Weasley replied, "we've had to let some people go and the new hires aren't quite up to speed yet. There's also the new legislation that's being proposed and debated at the Wizengamot, but we've reached a bit of an impasse on the werewolf and vampire rights."

He looked to Harry, but Harry already knew what he was going to say.

"Sorry Mr. Weasley, I still don't think I'm ready," Harry said, "until the rest of Riddle's followers are caught, I can't really think about anything else."

Mr. Weasley nodded.

"Much as the Wizengamot could use some fresh blood and a voice of reason, I think you've got the right of it," he replied, though from his expression, Harry wasn't quite sure if Mr. Weasley actually believed the words coming out of his own mouth, "you'll never get a moment's peace so long as You-Know-Who's radical blood purists are still skulking about."

"I'll be glad when all of them are finally locked up for good," Mrs. Weasley said.

"Cheers to that," Ron said.

They ate quietly for the rest of the meal, Harry and Ron telling Mr. and Mrs. Weasley about some of the exercises they'd been run through in the past week and a half. Harry took an extra helping of banana vanilla pudding when Mrs. Weasley brought it out; he'd take the home cooked food whenever he could get it. With bellies full, Ron and Harry made their way to the living room where Harry wrote a quick note to Ginny and added it to Ron's envelope before heading to the fireplace.

"We'll try to come back next Sunday mum," Ron said, "if Mackenzie lets us go."

Mrs. Weasley looked up at her son, pride practically gushing out of her ears.

"I know you'll do your best, Ronald," she said.

They said their goodbyes, and flooed to Auror Training Ground C.

"Wonder if the others are back yet," Ron said as they walked out of the shack to the sound of crickets chirping in the chilly darkness.

"Ron, there's something else happened today," Harry said quietly as they walked to the barracks, and Ron deliberately slowed his steps.

"I ran into Robards at HQ," Harry said, "found out at least part of why he doesn't like me. He's wondering how I defeated Riddle, when there's nothing really special about me."

Ron made a sound of protest.

"No Ron, I'm pretty good with a wand, but Robards is right about one thing. I'm nowhere near where Dumbledore and Riddle were," Harry said, "thing is, I can't exactly tell him about the… you know what's, and he's absolutely convinced there's more to the story."

Ron nodded.

"Maybe you should talk to Kinglsey, have him tell Dawlish to get Robards to back off?" Ron asked.

Harry grimaced.

"I can't go running to Kingsley every time I've got a problem, he's spread too thin as it is," Harry replied, "besides, this probably isn't going to be the last time someone asks about this. I've got to figure out a decent explanation at some point."

They walked in silence for a moment.

"Tell him it was the Prophecy, and that you don't really know how it worked," Ron said, "see if he'll leave it alone after that."

Harry snorted.

"Maybe," Harry said.

They arrived at the barracks and for the first time, it wasn't unoccupied. Two young women, one blonde and one brunette, and a young blonde man sat on their trunks or at the foot of their beds, looking over as Harry and Ron entered. They were all a bit older than Ron and Harry, perhaps in their early twenties, and all of them were fit and trim, which made sense if Mackenzie had them on a training regime even remotely resembling what he'd been doing to Harry and Ron.

"And here they are," the man, about Ron's height with blonde hair and black eyes said, "told you, pay up, Miller."

Miller, the blonde woman, dug around her pockets for some coins and grudgingly passed them over to the man.

"We were wondering when you'd be back," he continued, "my name's Shawn Davis, and this is Tammy Miller, and Elizabeth Moore."

Tammy had soft brown eyes and her blonde hair was cut short, just below her ears, and was the slightly taller of the two, while Elizabeth had long brown hair tied in a pair of braids which fell to the top of her chest, and wide blue eyes.

"Davis? Would you happen to know a Tracey Davis at Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

"Yeap, she's my little cousin," Shawn replied, "but aren't you going to introduce yourselves?"

"Oh, sorry, erm… I'm Harry Potter, and this is Ron Weasley," Harry said as Ron nodded next to him.

Davis snickered.

"I'm just havin' you on mate, we know who you are," he said, "come on in."

Harry smiled, walked over to his bed, and deposited his bag on it. He hadn't even been able to crack the books open even once today except to look up codes when filling out the Ministry forms. Perhaps that counted as revision?

"Miller, you're the Cannons fan?" Ron asked as he passed by her bed, surprise in his voice.

"Oh yes, are you?" Tammy asked.

"Am I a…, they're only the greatest team in quidditch history," Ron said, "the best thing about the Cannons though is the fanbase is the most loyal of any team of any sport in the world. Even though we've had a rough go the last few seasons, some of the prospects they've picked up in the recent drafts are showing real promise."

Tammy broke into a wide grin as Ron gravitated over to the poster, their conversation rapidly escalating to the point even Harry, as a quidditch player, had trouble following.

"And you were happy we had Potter and Weasley," Moore deadpanned to Davis, "you know how she gets, now it's going to be even worse."

"Look at the bright side Liz," Shawn said, "she won't be badgering _us_ about it anymore."

As Harry, Shawn, and Elizabeth looked on, Ron gesticulated wildly, attempting to simulate a chaser manoeuvre with his hands, which was difficult because he only had two hands for three positions. Tammy shook her head and started her own chaser simulation, the two of them looking like they were completely mental.

"So Potter, you met Robards a fortnight ago," Davis said, "or rather, you met Robards' wand."

Harry shook his head.

"Is he like that with everyone?" Harry asked.

Shawn seemed to think about it for a second, but Elizabeth spoke up.

"No. Don't get me wrong, he's a jerk but he's usually not that bad. Did you say anything to piss him off?" Elizabeth asked.

"I might've… done something," Harry said, remembering the legilimency, "what's his story?"

Elizabeth and Shawn looked at each other.

"We're not entirely sure," Shawn said, "but you remember when Bones was killed, Thicknesse took over the DMLE?"

Harry nodded. He couldn't really forget.

"Robards' brother Gawain wanted to take the fight to Voldemort but Thicknesse disagreed, and both Robards' resigned and went into hiding," Davis said quietly, "only Lester Robards got through the war, but they both received awards."

"I heard they waged a two-man guerrilla campaign," Elizabeth said, "managed to kill two Death Eaters and bunch of Snatchers. I mean… so I've heard."

Their conversation was interrupted by the front door banging open to reveal a mountain of a man with short blonde hair and a rapidly receding hairline; he took up almost the entire door frame and radiated sheer physical power as he stepped into the barracks and gently closed the door behind him.

"Welcome back Matt," Shawn said, "the new guys are here."

"Potter and Weasley," Matt boomed, "Matt Wilson. Let me tell you, I'm glad it's you two and not whatever twits they're sending to the other teams."

His boots clumped as he walked to the centre of the room and held up a copy of the evening Prophet. On the front page under the blaring headline "HARRY POTTER ATTACKED!" was a pair of photos of Harry duelling through the woods and a close-up of him catching Seamus' wand.

"Couldn't wait to get started, eh Potter?" Matt said.

"This was today?" Shawn asked, snatching the paper and starting to read.

"Shawn, why are you reading the article when he's right here," Tammy said, pointing at Harry.

Everyone looked at Harry, and he, once again, recounted the tale of the day's ambush.

"So, I have no idea why whoever was watching invisibly just left," Harry finished.

"Do you think it was a Death Eater?" Shawn asked.

Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"It's possible. Honestly I have no idea, and if it wasn't for Dawlish, I wouldn't even know someone else was there," Harry said.

"God, that's got to be frustrating," Elizabeth said, "and worrying."

"Extremely," Harry replied, nodding.

Matt clapped him on the back, nearly knocking him over. Harry looked up at Matt and gave him a half-grin. Then he squinted his eyes. Despite him having progressed significantly into baldness, he thought he recognized the well-built man.

"Hey, I know you, Wilson," Harry said, "did you go to Hogwarts?"

"Yeah, sure did," Matt replied, the smile fading from his face.

"You played quidditch, right, beater for Hufflepuff?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Matt replied, "Cedric was a good friend of mine."

Harry's mouth dropped open. The night in the graveyard. Cedric's body. Voldemort's resurrection.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Harry said.

Matt shook his head.

"I knew they were lying about you, Cedric said you were a good bloke," Matt said, "I'm just glad you finally killed that snake-faced fucker."

"Yeah, me too," Elizabeth said, "I had to quit the program last year and go into hiding."

"Muggleborn," she added, raising a hand, "so, thank you Harry."

"From me too, thank you Harry," Matt said.

"Uh guys, Weasley's here too you know," Shawn said, pointing at Ron.

"Yeah, I was going to say, Ron was pretty important too, right?" Tammy added.

"Um… yeah a bit," Ron said, cheeks colouring.

"Oi, I've just got to know, did you really rob Gringotts and ride out on a dragon, or is that just complete bollocks?" Shawn asked.

"Oh, yeah, that happened," Harry said, "wasn't really very fun at the time."

"But, it worked out, so, in hindsight it was bloody awesome," Ron said.

"All except the bit about the goblins hating us for all time…" Harry muttered.

Shawn grinned.

"Goblins hate all of us by default, so no harm done," Shawn said, "The way I figure, if we can't get through these trials with two thirds of the Golden Trio on our team, we're pretty pathetic."

"Said the genius," Tammy said to Shawn before looking over to Harry and Ron.

"Shawn has the highest scores out of all of us," she added, "he barely even has to study, just flips through the books and he knows everything."

"Bloody hell," Ron said.

"Eh, it's not as good as it sounds, trust me," Shawn said completely unconvincingly.

"Okay you guys get acquainted, I'm gonna take a shower and then it's lights out, because you know Mackenzie is going to have our asses up at the butt crack of dawn, and I don't need him blasting ice chips up my arse again," Matt said, pulling out a towel, change of clothes, and soap from his trunk.

Harry, not really able to determine if Matt was joking or not, decided not to laugh and instead opened one of his textbooks to read a bit until lights out. At least he could get to some measure of the revision he'd wanted to. He was distracted for a moment by Ron and Tammy discussing quidditch again on the other side of the room. He glanced to his right to catch Elizabeth looking at him with her wide blue eyes. She smirked, inclined her head at Tammy and Ron, and gave him the most sarcastic eye roll he'd ever seen. Harry gave her a grin and went back to his book until Wilson came out in his pyjamas and killed the lights. Stripping off his shoes and jeans, he had trouble settling down at first as the events of the day kept him up a bit longer, but in the end, fatigue won out and he fell into a fitful sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Warning: Gore, implied child abuse

Chapter 9

Julia swung her body around beneath her broom and back up the other side as the brilliant morning autumn sun dazzled her vision, neatly dodging the bludger Ginny had smacked in her direction. Julia and the other two chaser alternates weaved and ducked their way through an agility course set up by the starting team, and the starters took turns with three bludgers, attempting to force them to steer out of their way to avoid getting hit. Another bludger whizzed past Bella's head so close she felt the wind blow her hair.

"_Of course, knocking us off our brooms would definitely slow us down too," _she thought.

The nights were getting longer, and they only had so much time to practice in the early hours before it was dark almost until first period. Most of the team had never played together before so getting as much practice as possible before their first match was critical. Bellatrix ducked through another hoop and dove to pick up speed to increase her lead over the other two alternates. She wasn't as good as the players who'd been flying a broom all their lives, but with her practice over the summer and the smaller student body, she was good enough to make alternate. Ginny, with her single-minded focus and world-class racing broom was far and away the best of them, and she was determined to win the Quidditch Cup. The first match was coming up in a little over a week, and their drills had only intensified in the leadup to the game.

"Pay attention, White!" Ginny shouted, as both beaters hit bludgers towards her at the same time, trying to cut into her lead. Julia twisted awkwardly on her broom and one of the bludgers clipped her on the upper arm, throwing off her balance. The broomstick wobbled and fish-tailed as she fought for control just as the final hoop rose in front of her. Julia jerked back on the broom to steady it before diving through at a narrow angle, ducking her head to just barely skim the edge of the metal hoop with the top of her helmet and then the bristles of her broom as she passed through.

"Okay, that's enough," Ginny said as the other two followed close behind her, "down to the pitch."

The team descended to the green fields and dismounted, some of them still breathing hard from the drilling.

"Good practice everyone," Ginny said, "we're lucky it's Slytherin next week, we can use that game as a tune up for the other teams. Just because half their squad can barely fly doesn't mean we can take it easy on them though. Score differential is one of the tiebreakers and I don't intend on losing that to anyone. Plus their seeker isn't half bad, and a quick game is probably the only way they could legitimately beat us, so keep practicing and make sure that doesn't happen."

There were a few murmurs of agreement and the team hit the showers. Julia stripped off her equipment, rinsed off and dressed quickly as the chill autumn air had found a way into the changing rooms, then waited for Ginny outside the locker room while drying her hair with her wand. The redhead appeared a moment later and the two of them made their way back to the castle. They left dark green tracks in the grass as their boots quickly grew wet with morning dew.

"You really should consider getting another broom," Ginny said, "that Cleansweep is just not fast enough, or agile enough."

"I'm only an alternate, Ginny," Julia replied.

"First alternate, you could be playing next week," Ginny said.

"If you've got a bunch of extra galleons lying around, feel free to donate to the cause," Julia said.

Ginny grew quiet at that as they passed into the courtyard, when a black shoe fell from a stone arch and landed right in front of them. Both of them looked up reflexively to see a little first year missing her outer work robes and one shoe, waving at them silently as she stuck to the ceiling by her backside. Julia recognized her as that first year Slytherin, one of two, Allison, if she recalled correctly. She pulled out her wand, undid the sticking charm, and silently levitated Allison down.

"_Finite,"_ she said.

"Thank you, I was stuck up there for over an hour," Allison said, adjusting her white shirt and belt. She knelt down and pulled her shoe back on over her stocking.

"Not at all," Julia said, "who stuck you there?"

"Just these Ravenclaws, I think they're third years," she replied, "they're always asking me questions, and when I can't answer they do something like take my robes or hang me up somewhere. Or both."

"Have you told Slughorn, or Professor Flitwick?" Ginny asked.

Allison shrugged.

"What about a prefect?" Ginny asked, "Tracey Davis?"

Allison shook her head.

"They'll know it was me, and it'll just be worse," she said, chewing her lower lip, "it doesn't matter anyway, I'm not coming back after Christmas."

Ginny and Julia exchanged a glance.

"Is it really that bad?" Ginny asked.

Allison stubbornly stuck out her lower lip.

"Yes. I hate this place, and I hate magic. I was happy at home," Allison said, "I wish I'd never gotten that letter."

Ginny's eyes popped open in surprise but Julia cocked her head to one side. So, the girl was a mudblood. In Slytherin. How interesting.

Julia glanced at Ginny. Maybe she could earn some more points with Potter's girlfriend.

"Never took a Slytherin for a quitter, aren't you supposed to have ambition? I suppose if you're bullied in muggle school you'd quit that too?" she asked.

Allison gaped at her a moment and shook her head.

"_Nobody_ bullies me there," she said.

"Let me give you some advice, girl to girl," Julia said, "you're better off facing your problems. At least then you can do something about them. Look at you. You haven't even tried, and you're ready to give up. With that kind of attitude you'll never accomplish anything in life, except to be someone else's practice dummy."

Julia closed one eye and aimed down at Allison's face.

At least the girl had the good sense to look ashamed.

"Now, I'm going to go tell Flitwick what happened here, and you can either come with me, or you're going right back where I found you so you can wait for the little half-goblin to come get you," she said, "what's it going to be?"

Julia crossed her arms, wand poking out to one side, and tapped a foot.

"I'll come with you," Allison said quietly.

Julia nodded and led the way to the Great Hall. It was still fairly early and the hall was never full these days anyway. Luckily, Flitwick was still at the head table, and Julia led the other two straight up the centre of the Hall.

"Pardon me, Professor Flitwick?" Julia said.

"Oh, yes Miss White?" Flitwick asked, peering over the edge of the table. Julia received a passing glance from McGonagall farther down the table before she went back to whatever she was talking about with Winthrop.

"We found Allison stuck beneath one of the arches in the Courtyard," Julia said, "some of your housemembers' work, I believe."

"I see," Flitwick said, "and where are your work robes, Miss Wong?"

"Um… they took them sir, and my wand," Allison said quietly.

"Hmm," Flitwick replied. He hopped down from his seat.

"You can't attend class without a wand. Follow me to my office, Miss Wong, we'll get you sorted out first, then locate your wand," he said, "oh, Miss White, five points to Gryffindor."

"Thank you Professor," she said.

She and Ginny made their way to the Gryffindor table as Flitwick pulled Slughorn away from yet another pastry, and the two professors and the first year departed the Great Hall.

"That was a really good thing you did, Julia," Ginny said.

"Please, you or Hermione would have done the same thing," Julia said, making a show of looking around, "speaking of Hermione, do you think she'll be joining us for breakfast today?"

"Probably not," Ginny replied, helping herself to some jam and toast, "she gets like this sometimes."

"I don't think I've seen her outside of class all week, maybe two," Julia said, likewise filling her plate, "what's she working on, some extra-credit project for Slughorn?"

Ginny bit into her toast with a crunch and swallowed before answering.

"Something like that, it's not really my place to say," Ginny said, "sorry, maybe try asking her, see if she'll tell you?"

"If I ever see her," Julia muttered.

Several weeks into her undercover work, and her elation at finding out she was rooming with Hermione Granger quickly turned to frustration as she barely saw the bushy-haired Golden Girl. Bellatrix had tailed her around the castle from time to time, disillusioned and silenced, of course, and she knew Hermione alternated between the library and one of the old potions labs, but that was it. She didn't even show up to their room to sleep anymore. The girl had set wards on the lab, and Bellatrix wasn't at the point yet where she wanted to go about tampering with them. She suspected she'd be able to break through, but putting them back the way they were so Hermione didn't notice anything? That would be a bit tougher; the girl was quite clever, for a mudblood. She'd managed to be slightly ahead of Bellatrix in most of their classes despite Bellatrix having already taken them and scoring top marks the first time around.

On the other hand, being chosen as an alternate chaser was both a blessing and a curse. It meant she was able to get closer to Potter's girlfriend, but she also had to attend all the practices, which cut into her scheming time considerably.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Neville Longbottom, who sat down next to her.

"Morning Ginny, Julia," he said.

"Morning," they replied.

"So, Hogsmeade is coming up," Neville said, looking at Julia and fiddling with the hem of his robe, "umm… would-you-like-to-go-with-me?"

"Pardon?" Julia asked, putting on her mask of indifference. She knew exactly what he said, but there was a certain satisfaction from watching him struggle through it a second time.

Neville, cheeks now burning crimson, took a breath.

"Would you care to accompany me to Hogsmeade this weekend, Julia?" he asked.

She put on a pout.

"Sorry Neville, I've got plans already," she said.

He visibly deflated, like air gone out of a balloon.

"I'm too late, aren't I, you're already going with someone?" he asked.

"Not really, I've just got other plans," Julia replied, "perhaps next time?"

He perked up a bit at that and nodded.

"I'll hold you to that," he said with a half-grin, "alright then, see you in Herbology."

He gave them both a sheepish wave as he stood up, then straightened his shoulders and returned to his seat near the other end of the hall.

Julia wasn't sure how to feel about Longbottom. That obvious propaganda piece garbage book Hermione had lent her asserted she'd tortured his parents into insanity. He seemed like an okay fellow, but she imagined that would be an awkward conversation at some point, even if she didn't remember or could imagine doing anything like that. Probably. Well, she could kind of see herself getting a bit carried away if her soulmate had vanished and she thought the Longbottoms knew where he was being hidden away. Honestly, who wouldn't?

She felt a pang of regret at the life she might have known. She would have ruled by his side, should have, if he hadn't somehow been defeated by that Potter boy, twice. The book was vague on exactly how the Dark Lord had been defeated, but Bellatrix had never seen his equal in terms of raw power, skill with a wand, and obscure magical knowledge. All the more reason to be careful about approaching Potter.

A tapping sound came from the podium, and Julia looked over to see McGonagall pointing a wand at her throat.

"Your attention please," she said, "I would like to announce a new program. Hogwarts is an institute of learning, and this includes cross-cultural understanding. Therefore, from now until the end of winter holidays, students are encouraged to mentor and expose muggleborns and purebloods in the ways of the others' society. If the students then write an acceptable twelve inch essay on their learnings, between five and twenty House Points will be awarded to each of them. Anyone who is interested in taking part in this initiative, please see Professor Winthrop for more details."

McGonagall returned to her seat as the Great Hall erupted in whispers.

"That's interesting," Ginny said, "are you going to sign up?"

Julia frowned.

"Probably not. I wouldn't even know who to bring, or where to bring them," Julia replied, "are you?"

"I don't know, I suppose I'm in the same boat as you," Ginny said, "I don't really know anyone I would be okay to introduce to my family. Except for Hermione of course, assuming she ever comes up for air."

Ginny furrowed her brow a bit at that and the two of them focused on their breakfast before heading up to Defence.

Julia sat in the front row again, and Hermione just barely arrived in time, hair even frizzier than usual. Julia watched her carefully out of the corner of her eye, chancing a glance when Winthrop's pacing lined up so she could make it not so obvious she was observing the mudblood. The dark bags under Hermione's eyes and the droop of her lips, the exhausted slump of her shoulders, the little crease between her eyebrows, the sloppiness and crossed words of her usually impeccable penmanship, they all added up to someone who was pushing herself beyond her limits. As they left Defence, Julia fell into step beside her burnt out roommate.

"Hi Hermione, haven't seen you in a few days," Julia said, "you seem a bit tired, are you alright?"

Hermione nodded.

"Of course. A bit fatigued perhaps, but I can handle it. I'm fine," Hermione replied.

"Ginny mentioned you were working on some kind of extra credit project?" Julia asked, trying to sound innocent.

"Yes. Something like that," Hermione replied.

"What is it? Is there anything I can help with?" Julia asked.

Hermione was silent for almost a minute as they exited the castle and held their robes tight against the chilly autumn gusts as they walked down the slope towards the greenhouses. Julia thought she might not respond at all.

"No, I don't think so," Hermione said, "I appreciate the offer but it's not something I'd want to talk about. I don't mean to be rude…"

"Not at all, I understand," Julia said, "Um, speaking of rude, I hope this isn't too.. presumptuous? but I haven't seen you at the Great Hall in weeks, how are you even eating?"

"The elves bring food, of course," Hermione said, with a wan grin, "I could hardly function if I wasn't eating at all."

Julia nodded.

"I'm a bit worried about you, Hermione," Julia said.

Hermione looked over at her and flashed a tired smile.

"I appreciate the concern Julia, really, but I'm fine," she said.

Julia nodded, and the conversation was effectively over. Despite sitting next to the girl in several classes, she wasn't able to get any closer to her. Weeks had gone by with no progress, and Bellatrix already felt like blasting a few idiots into the next county. Speaking of idiots…

They passed the Herbology class that had just let out, including the three Gryffindor bullies Wildy, Stevens, and Marcos, the three Tracey Davis had dropped off at Winthrop's office last month. They each sported frilly pink robes which vigorously swished about in the windy morning weather. Even their shoes had turned pastel pink and sported white lace about their ankles. Winthrop had cursed them so that no matter what clothing they donned, it automatically transfigured itself to the same frilly pink fabric they'd transfigured that Slytherin's robes to. Bellatrix had absolutely no idea how he'd done it and therefore had gained a measure of respect for the man. It'd been several weeks with no sign of their punishment ending, and Bellatrix idly wondered if the good professor intended for them to head home to their parents still cursed. She somehow suspected he might welcome the additional attention.

Herbology passed without incident, as did Charms, and lunch, with Hermione once again absent. Julia camped out in the library to finish off her essays in the afternoon, knowing Hermione sometimes stopped by to return or borrow new books but no luck this day. Then it was dinner, and off to Winthrop's extra session.

The NEWT students filed into the Defence classroom. Night had fallen long ago and the windows were dark except for the gibbous moon already high in the sky, but the classroom was well lit. At student request, their previous lessons had covered the nature of blood wards and ritual magic, two topics Winthrop was apparently well-versed in, and tonight's lesson was about Dark magic and morality. Hermione was already there when Julia arrived, scratching out some arithmantic equations on a scrap of parchment before crossing it all out. Julia tried to get a look at what she was working on but Winthrop chose that moment to enter and start lecturing, causing Hermione to fold the paper and stuff it into her bag.

"Dark magic, is it all evil?" Winthrop asked, "considering that whether magic is classified as Light, Dark, or neither is up to a group of wizards, I would wager that since wizards are fallible, not all Dark magic is evil. Let's discuss."

The usual arguments popped up, the dangerous nature of the magic, intent to injure, healing magic by it's very nature couldn't be evil, etc. Hermione stayed quiet, chewing on the tip of her thumb.

"Yes, and that's all true, but consider for a moment, sacrifice," Winthrop said, "Dark magic almost always involves some kind of sacrifice, and the magic usually doesn't care whether the sacrifice is willing or not. Obviously a ritual that calls for a forcible blood sacrifice, or any other unwilling sacrifice, is probably evil, but what if the sacrifice is willing? What if, an elderly man dying of dragon pox wished to perform a ritual and sacrifice his own life so that he might save the life of his grandson? Today, this is technically illegal."

He paced, the tone of his voice and passion evident in his gestures drawing in even Julia, despite her initially wanting to watch Hermione for her reaction.

"Or, conversely, what if I came across, say, a dying Lord Voldemort," Winthrop said, and several in the room reflexively inhaled at the utterance and Julia's eyes widened just a fraction, "and I healed him, saved him from death, restored him to health. Would this be an evil act? I think most everyone would agree on the answer to _that_ question."

Bellatrix kept her occlumency shields up and her face as impassive as possible as Winthrop went on. He even stared at her as he spoke about her Lord, but then again, he was always paying more attention to her than anyone else in the class. She didn't feel any pressure on her mind, but one could never be too sure.

"One of the keys to Dark magic is sacrifice," Winthrop said, looking away again and pacing as he lectured, "Dark magic, in the traditional sense, is magic that requires sacrifice; you give up something every time you use Dark magic, this is true of almost all Dark magic, but it is also misleading. Everything requires sacrifice, even inaction. By taking any action, you sacrifice other actions you might have taken instead. By doing nothing, you sacrifice time, and possibly the window to take certain actions. Inaction itself can be an evil act, if you have the power to help someone at little cost to yourself and knowingly decline to do so. If I stand on land next to someone drowning, and I could save them if I but reached out my hand, and I choose not to, is that not evil? So then, what does all this mean, am I suggesting everything is evil? Of course not."

He paused for dramatic effect.

"The people I see in this room are the most talented, brightest wizards and witches at Hogwarts, and therefore in the world," he said, "I submit that we, you, have an obligation to help those who cannot help themselves, and by your actions, make the world a better place. Because if not you, then who?"

Julia turned to look at Hermione, who appeared deep in thought.

"Someone not as talented, someone not quite as bright?" he said, "and ultimately, someone less effective, and yes perhaps they might save many, but almost certainly less than you would have been able to."

"Your homework is this," Winthrop said, "The next time you come across someone whose life can be improved by your action, try to improve it, see what happens, and come back next week to talk about it. Whether you're successful or not isn't certain, but if you never even try… well, you don't need to be Professor Trelwaney to see the outcome of doing nothing."

The class filed out in silence after that. Hermione and Julia made their way upstairs towards the staircase which would take them to Gryffindor Tower when they came across a student with curly dark hair and green trimmed robes descending the opposite side of the stairs. His face had blown up to nearly twice it's normal size and he was barely able to see out of his swollen eyes, which was probably why he clutched the bannister of the staircase and stepped carefully and slowly.

"Michaels, is that you?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, is that… Granger?" he asked.

"Yes, are you on your way to the Hospital Wing? What happened?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing much, just the usual," Michaels said dejectedly, "said I was a coward for not fighting in the final battle. Not like I had a choice... they locked us all in the dungeons."

"And you were underage too," Hermione said, "still are, actually. Come on, I'll walk you the rest of the way."

She looked at Julia, who of course nodded and accompanied them both as Hermione held out a forearm for him to grab.

"This is bullshite. I only ended up in Slytherin because I wanted to make something of myself and not be poor when I grew up," he said once they'd made it past the danger of the moving stairs, "honestly if I'd known it would have caused this much trouble I would have begged to go anywhere else."

Julia rolled her eyes. Idiots. The world was filled with idiots. If Michaels was a budding dark wizard, smacking him in the face with a swelling hex was a great way to get on a list of people he wanted to take revenge on. And if he wasn't, then there was no point in hexing him.

"I hope you gave as good as you got," Julia said.

"Not so much," Michaels replied.

Julia snorted.

"Get them back later then," Julia said, "people need to know there's consequences for trying to jinx you, otherwise they'll never stop."

"Or you could tell a professor, or a prefect," Hermione added.

Michaels snorted.

"Easy for you to say, White, you're one of the best duelists in the school. And Granger, you helped take down You-Know-Who," Michaels said, "I bet you both know all sorts of spells I've never even heard of. Unless they see it, the teachers aren't really willing to do much to help someone like me. Maybe take off a few points or hand out a few detentions, but people don't really seem to care about those as much as they used to."

Hermione fell quiet at that, lost in thought again.

"You don't need a lot, just know a few spells really well," Julia said, "Winthrop gives extra lessons, and I'm sure we'll be duelling at some point this year, maybe you should come."

"Professor Winthrop," Hermione said quietly, almost to herself.

"I asked him already, he said they're only open to NEWT students," Michaels replied.

"Oh," Julia said. Winthrop's call to action bounced around her head, and she considered Hermione next to her. The Golden Girl seemed to have a bleeding heart, probably wanted to help Michaels but couldn't because of whatever project she was working on. Perhaps Julia could break through that impenetrable ward she'd put up around her feelings and get on her good side by helping someone in need?

"I could tutor you a bit, teach you a few things," Julia said.

Michaels looked at her, his face really was horribly swollen, and a little pus oozed out of a break in the skin of his forehead.

"Really?" he asked, "you're not having me on? Why would you help me?"

"_Let's see, what would be the answer Hermione would like best…."_ Julia thought.

"You need help, and I can help you," Julia said, "everyone deserves a chance to study and make the best of their education without having to worry about being ambushed in the hallways between class."

Michaels paused a moment before speaking.

"Sure, I'll take whatever help I can get," he said.

"Sunday night," Julia said, "I'll find you at dinner. Probably."

They arrived at the hospital wing.

"Thanks for walking with me the rest of the way," Michaels said, "I'm fine from here."

"Feel better soon, Michaels," Hermione said.

He gave them both a small wave and disappeared into the Infirmary.

They walked in silence most all the way back to Gryffindor Tower, and it wasn't until they'd passed beyond the portrait of the Fat Lady and reached the deserted common room that Hermione stopped and looked at Julia.

"It's a really good thing you're doing, helping Michaels," she said, "I felt terrible about not offering. I just can't spare the time, so I'm glad someone is helping him. I'm surprised nobody in Slytherin offered."

Julia blew a strand of hair away from her face.

"They have their own problems, and it's a bit more cutthroat down in the dungeons," Julia replied, "you've got to bring something worth trading if you want lessons."

Hermione nodded, then gave Julia a questioning look.

"How'd you know that?" she asked.

_Fuck._

"I don't know," Julia replied, "I talk to people. People talk to me. It's not that hard if you keep your eyes and ears open."

Hermione nodded and stifled a yawn.

"Let's head upstairs," Julia said, changing the subject and leading the way to the dormitories.

"I'm guessing that extra credit project is why you don't have time to tutor Michaels?" she asked.

Hermione nodded.

They entered the dorm to find Ginny had already closed and warded her curtains. Julia walked past both Ginny and Hermione's four-posters to the back of the room where she pulled out a purple nightgown and ties for her hair. Hermione opened her trunk and rummaged around a bit, eventually pulling out a few sweaters, undergarments, and wool socks, then stuffed them into that moleskin pouch she always wore.

"You're not sleeping?" Julia asked.

"I will, I've got a bit more work to do before turning in," Hermione said.

Julia's internal frustration coiled around her stomach, making her feel like a tightly wound spring. The whole point of this charade was to get closer to Hermione, but she couldn't very well do it when the damn girl was never around.

"Hermione, whatever it is you're working on for Sluggy, it's not worth sacrificing your health," Julia said with perhaps a bit more acid than she'd intended, "you need to take care of yourself. Trust me, get a good night's sleep, have breakfast with Ginny and I, and come at it fresh in the morning."

Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head, frizzy hair waving about.

"It's not for Professor Slughorn, it's something of an independent study," she said, "I don't… it's not that I don't trust you Julia, it's just that… it's really personal, and I appreciate what you're trying to say, and your concern..."

Hermione looked at a loss for words for a moment.

"Hermione, advanced potions is no joke. If you're not thinking clearly, you're going to make a mistake," Julia said, "Take a break."

"I know that," Hermione whispered, eyes closed, "don't you think I know that? But I've only got so much time."

She turned and all but fled the room.

"_Ugh, stubborn bitch! Witch. Whatever,_" Bellatrix thought as she stalked into the shower, "well, _there's more than one way to skin a kneazle."_

She returned to her bed, confident that Ginny was already sleeping. Julia had noted the redhead slept a lot. When Ginny wasn't eating, barking orders at them above the quidditch pitch, or in class, the redhead was often holed up in her bed, all but dead to the world. Best kind of roommate as far as Julia was concerned. She made to get ready for bed herself, but laid out hiking boots, a sweater, and long pants in the cubby above her bed, and set a charm to wake her in three hours. She had plans for the evening.

Exactly three hours later, the charm jolted her awake, and she opened her eyes and sat up in the pitch darkness of her four-poster, willing her brain to shake off the cobwebs of deep sleep. She strapped on her duelling holster and wand and dressed in the privacy of her bed, throwing her robes over her clothing before disillusioning and silencing herself. With only a rustle of curtains, she slipped from her bed and made for the door. One of the toughest parts of being invisible was finding the doorknobs or the edge of stairs, but with enough practice you could get good enough to not accidentally bump into things.

With most of the hidden passages out of the castle destroyed, Julia headed for the second floor, careful to watch for patrols, and luckily did not encounter anyone. From there, she stepped up to a narrow window, leaned out dropped onto the courtyard with a silent _Molliare_ to cushion her landing. She brazenly walked straight across the stones to the bridge. Her way to the castle grounds clear, she strode across the long stone bridge. The entire nearby area was spread out before her, lit by the eerie, silverly glow of the gibbous moon still high in the sky. Her boots began to thump on the stone as her silencing spell wore off, and she recast her disillusionment just to be sure. For the first time since the winter of her seventh year, thirty-odd years ago but only a few months for her, she noticed her breath escaped in small puffs, and she pulled her robe a bit tighter about her. So much time had already passed, but tonight she would set in motion a plan to speed things up a bit.

The Culum Sercupio potion was akin to a love potion, not nearly as strong, and much more insidious. If brewed and administered properly, it made the subject more apt to desire to spend time with an individual or individuals, and see them as an ally or friend. It had never seen wide use as generally it was easier and faster to be nice to someone, pay them in gold or favours, or blackmail them to get them to do what you wanted. The potion took a long time to administer, weeks or months, which on the plus side made it less likely to be noticed by the subject's associates, friends, and family, but also made it more difficult to administer properly. Another drawback was the expensive ingredients, but Julia had spent the last several weeks cataloguing everything she needed from Slughorn's stores and she was fairly certain she could 'disappear' some without him noticing. She had everything she needed except one ingredient, the most important one, time. The main drawback of Culum Sercupio was that it required a year and a day to ferment before it was potent enough to be administered, and Julia didn't have a year and a day to make Hermione trust her more. She needed something to speed the process up.

Julia descended from the stone bridge to the ground but instead of heading straight for her destination, she followed the dirt path around the castle to the quidditch pitch and retrieved her broom from the locker rooms, then backtracked to where the trail forked and headed to the Forbidden Forest.

Over the course of her research for Winthrop's assignment last month, she'd discovered a Hag's Eye was an exceedingly rare and powerful magical stone, only created by the oldest and most powerful hags. Of its many properties, one was the ability to siphon its essence and speed up the brewing of magical potions. The problem was, hags were extremely dangerous, resilient, and wouldn't willingly part with an artefact they literally sacrificed an eye to create, and they didn't just walk around with them. So, the plan was simple. Find a hag with one eye in the Forbidden Forest, tag it with a tracker without it noticing, and then the next day when it would be weaker, sneak away from Hogsmeade, use the tracker to locate its lair during the day, and take the Hag's Eye. All without having her liver eaten or her blood drained. No problem. That's why she needed the broom. No way was she hanging about the Forest a second longer than she had to after encountering a one-eyed Hag in the middle of the night.

"_Reducio,_" she whispered, waving her wand over the broom and shrinking it down until it could fit in a pocket of her robes. It probably wouldn't function at peak performance when she enlarged it again, but ninety percent of top speed was more than enough for tonight. At the edge of the field leading to the Forest, she stopped and peered into the heart of darkness, wand held loosely in one hand. The wind stirred creaks and groans from the wood of the old growth trees, and leaves had already started littering the grass near the border of the woods. All sorts of nasty critters lived in the Forest, not just hags. She'd heard some of the dementors from the battle of Hogwarts had escaped into the forest, as had a giant or two, and whatever remained of a colony of acromantulas. Julia took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. She thought of her Lord, the way he smiled at her when she said something he agreed with, the way his breath had ghosted across her neck when he'd touched her forearm and stolen a glance while correcting her duelling posture. They were meant to be together, the pureblood Saviour and she, his queen. She'd told herself she'd go to the ends of the earth for him. If the book was to be believed, she'd been defeated by Molly Prewett just before her Lord had fallen a second and final time, but now she had a chance at revenge. Revenge against that stupid mudblood with her stupid extra credit project, and her stupid friends Potter and Weasley, who'd stolen the life she should have had.

Bellatrix strode into the Forbidden forest like she owned the place, quickly leaving the fields behind and embracing the darkness as the trees welcomed her with open branches. The trail led deeper into the woods and she walked briskly but with her senses alert for any dark creatures looking for a snack. Some of the trees were already nearly bare while others still had most of their leaves, which made for areas of light and dark on the forest floor. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck and she slowed her steps. Eventually she'd have to move off the trail but she wanted to get a-

Her thoughts were interrupted by the twang of a bowstring and she reflexively ducked her head and threw up a shield. The massive bolt embedded itself a foot deep into a tree next to her, and she looked off to the right to see the shadowy half-man, half-horse shape of a centaur standing on a small ridge about thirty feet off the trail, reloading his weapon.

"Why are you here, human?" he asked, his voice a deep baritone, "this part of the forest is off limits to your kind."

He finished reloading and aimed his crossbow at her again.

"I have no quarrel with you, centaur," Julia replied, "I seek to rid the forest of a Dark creature. Do you know of a one-eyed Hag in these woods?"

The centaur stomped the ground twice with one foreleg.

"A Hag not an enemy to be trifled with," the centaur replied, "even we centaurs leave them be, and they us. I will not risk your magical blood fuelling their foul rituals. Now, begone from this place, ere the next arrow finds your heart."

"_Bollocks,_" Julia thought, "_going to have to do this the hard way._"

She took a deep breath.

"Shame your hands can't reach all the way 'round, you filthy hybrid. I can smell your arse from here," she shouted.

The bow twanged again but Bellatrix was ready for it, batting the bolt aside and coiling neatly into a counter attack.

"_Confringo!_" she shouted, a grin spreading across her lips.

The top portion of the ridge exploded in a shower of dirt, roots, and rocks, and the centaur struggled to maintain his balance. A second bowstring twanged off to her left, and she swung around and dropped to one knee just a split-second too late. A line of fire seared its way across her upper arm as the crossbow bolt grazed her.

"_Okay, two could be a problem,_" she thought.

"_Lumos Maxima!_" she shouted, closing her eyes as she threw a ball of searing white light into the air.

A giggle escaped her lips as she heard the centaurs neighing in pain as they were temporarily blinded. Bella cancelled the spell and opened her eyes; the first centaur was down near the trail from the ridge, still wiping at his face.

"_Confundo, Expelliarmus, Incarcerous,_" she said, quickly disarming and binding the first centaur.

"_Stupefy,_" she added, stunning him with a red beam for good measure.

She heard hooves coming at her from the side and dove backwards, narrowly missing being trampled as the second centaur charged towards her voice.

"_Diffindo!_" she shouted from her back. She figured with four hooves going by she ought to hit at least one.

She was rewarded with a whinny of pain as the second centaur crashed into the brush and rose gingerly, keeping one rear leg off the ground, nearly severed just above the hoof. Bella took the moment to check her wound and found she was bleeding. Not badly, but the arrow had torn her robes and shirt and her fingertips came away dark in the moonlight. She grit her teeth and growled.

"You dare draw a witch's blood?" she asked, circling her wand in a shrinking spiral shape ending in straight jab, "_Anescere!_"

A bolt of bright green lightning leapt from Bellatrix's wand and arced straight between the centaur's empty hands, held up in a defensive posture, and hit him in the stomach. At first nothing happened, but then the man-horse started screaming in horrible, high pitched panic. It quickly became a gurgle as skin flaked away and dark liquid poured from the small hole that appeared where the spell had struck him. Hands scrabbled at the widening wound but he only succeeded in pulling away chunks of flesh and bone. The centaur collapsed, twitching, to the ground and his gurgling screams became an extended wet rattle as his body quickly lost its structure, hollowed out, and collapsed on itself. In less than a minute, only a pile of dust and bones, a few tufts of hair, and four decayed hooves remained next to a broken crossbow.

"_Merlin's. Fucking. Balls."_ Julia thought, wand loosely held at her side and mouth partially agape.

She wanted to heave up her dinner. She wanted to cackle in exultation. She wanted to dance on what remained of his corpse, and she wanted to run screaming back to the castle and take a shower or seven. When the Dark Lord had taught her that spell, he'd instructed her that she wasn't to use it except in extreme circumstances, or where there were no witnesses, and having just seen the results, he was NOT kidding. She could only imagine what the spell would do to an _actual_ human.

She shook her head and snapped herself out of whatever had come over her. She had a job to do, and the effectiveness of the spell her soulmate had taught her was just one more reason she needed to press on with her grand plan. She quickly healed the cut on her arm with a muttered _episky, _then walked up to the captured and unconscious centaur.

"_Rennervate,_ _Imperio_," she said, waking the centaur up and immediately attacking his mind, "Tell me where the one-eyed Hag lives."

The centaur fought the curse for a few seconds, but he was no match for a fully trained witch, much less one of Bellatrix's talent and skill, and his features relaxed and eyes glazed over as he fell to her assault.

"To the east, past the centre of the forest," he replied.

"Lead me there, take a safer route, and avoid centaur territory," she said.

He immediately tried to stand, and Julia released him from her binding spell, cautious of a trick. She relaxed slightly as the centaur started walking back the way she'd come, before leaving the path and circling around to the south. She was struck by just how large the beast was; she wasn't even able to see over the top of his horse's back. The forest looked much the same to Julia as they walked, except for some broken silk webs high up in the trees to their right.

"_This must be where the acromantulas made their nests, or at least the edge of their territory_," she thought, "_supposedly a number of them perished in the battle, so it's not surprising the webs are now in tatters. Good riddance._"

They passed by a small, dark metal cage hanging from a tree branch, containing a small skeleton. Julia thought it was a house elf skeleton at first glance, but as she looked closer, she thought it might be a leprechaun.

"This is the edge of the hag's territory," the centaur said.

"Okay, stop," Julia said, and the centaur complied.

What should she do with the centaur... She didn't exactly want to kill him, but she couldn't leave him wandering around the forest when he might break out of her spell at any time.

"Return to your camp, act normally after that," she said. He turned to comply and she aimed her wand carefully.

"_Obliviate,_" she said, hitting him in the back of the head with the invisible spell. She wiped his memory of the past few hours and let him keep walking. Julia waited until she could no longer hear the sound of his hooves before disillusioning herself, withdrawing her broom and enlarging it and mounting. She straddled the shaft and rose slowly into the air, until she spotted the glow of a small fire a few hundred feet ahead. Quietly, she descended back to the ground, shrank her broom again, and cast a silencing spell on her feet. Now on silent footsteps, she crept around leaves in the general direction of the fire she'd seen. Near a break in the forest, she spotted the fire and froze, looking for the hag. She heard low voices, too far away to make out any specifics, and strained her ears to figure out where they were coming from. Heart pounding, she crept closer, then froze at the edge of a clearing.

"_Fuck, fuck, fuck_," she thought as she spied not one, but three hags huddled over what looked like a several unlit candles placed at even intervals around them. A ritual. They were probably working on runic inscriptions on the ground. The hags themselves looked like decrepit old women dressed in rags, with spindly arms that were too long for their bodies. They hunched over the ground, their backs forming humps like turtle shells. Julia couldn't see them from here, but she knew their fingers ended in claws, and they were terribly strong, their strength enhanced by the blood magic that sustained their existence.

Julia released her _quietus_ spell; she needed the tracker to be perfect and a silent casting just wasn't going to cut it. She waited patiently to see which one of the hags had only one eye, and got her chance when the one facing her direction stood up straight and sniffed the air, a gaping hole where one of her eyes should have been. The hag's long nose somewhat resembled a rotting carrot. Thin and scraggly white and grey hair fell to her waist.

Julia glanced to her arm. Damn, should have scourgified the clothing! Nothing for it now…

"_Tacet indago," _Julia whispered, hitting the hag with the invisible tracking spell.

She was about to cast her silencing spell again when the hag spoke.

"Come closer dear," the hag said, waving her hands in a come hither motion, "it's been so long since we've tasted the flesh and drank the blood of a young witch."

Julia tried to back away but found a bank of fog had encircled the entire clearing. She could push through the first foot or two, but after that it formed what might as well have been a solid barrier. Slowly the circle of fog began to constrict, inexorably driving her to the treeline at the edge of the clearing despite her boots sliding against the forest floor.

Julia wasn't sure she could take one hag at night, much less three. She looked up to see the stars above, and the edge of the moon above the fog, which all but glowed in its silvery light. Quickly, Julia pulled out the broom again and enlarged it with just a few feet of cover remaining. She mounted the broom and hovered, letting the fog push her forward.

"_Bombarda Maxima,_" she said, aiming for the centre of the ritual circle. She was hoping for some volatile ingredients but no luck there. Fortunately, the resulting bang and ruining of the inscriptions was enough to distract the hags long enough for Julia to fly out of the woods, corkscrewing up into the air, cackling like a madwoman as she did so. She just had to get over the top of the fog and she was home free. A bolt of lightning flew up from the forest floor, narrowly missing and leaving a large purple after-image on her sight, and causing her hair to dance on end. She aimed her wand down below again and fired blindly.

"_Confringo,_" she crowed, casting another blasting curse more to sow confusion than anything else. A wave of frost was the response. She felt the numbing cold through her boots and her broom became sluggish as the bristles iced over, but then she was away, skimming low over the treetops and laughing out loud. As the euphoria of the skirmish faded, she quieted down and oriented herself by the position of the moon to fly back to the castle. About halfway back, the adrenaline of the encounter with not one, but three hags, caused her hands and legs to start shaking. She managed to land back at the window ledge above the courtyard, shrank the broom, scourgified and repaired her robes, and made her way back to the Gryffindor common room, trying not to break into a sprint with all the excess energy she now had. The hour was extremely late, or early, and the castle still slept soundly, so once again she made it through the corridors without encountering anyone. After closing and locking the dormitory door, she breathed a sigh of relief. She'd actually done it! Then the door to the loo opened, flooding the room with light. Ginny Weasley stood blinking in the doorway, clad in her pink nightdress.

"Julia," she said, looking her up and down, "where were you?"

Julia recovered quickly and cocked a smirk.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she said.

Ginny shook her head.

"Just don't get caught," she mumbled, stumbling back to bed and drawing the curtains of her four-poster closed again.

The first part of Julia's plan more or less a success, she now needed to get some rest before going Hag hunting the following day. Unfortunately, her hands still shook from the fighting earlier in the evening, and she knew sleep would be impossible. She decided to take a long, hot shower. Now that she was out of immediate danger, the way that centaur had died kept replaying over and over in her mind. The horrible screams of the dying beast, the way the massive body had just collapsed in a cloud of dust. Despite the hot streams of water nearly scalding her skin or the viciousness with which she scrubbed, her skin still felt clammy and gritty. Long after when her fingertips resembled prunes, she stepped from the shower and towelled off before heading back to bed, stepping on the carpet and avoiding the cold, bare stone floor. Hermione wasn't in her bed, but Julia put up wards anyway; it was a good habit to get into.

Julia tossed and turned for what seemed like over an hour. She must have fallen into a fitful sleep at some point because she woke up with a start and pulled the curtains back to see sunlight streaming into the dormitory. Hermione and Ginny's beds were both empty, and Julia reached for her wand. A quick _tempus_ charm told her it was mid-morning, and she vaulted out of bed. Most of the castle would have headed down to Hogsmeade already, and breakfast would be long over. She took advantage of being alone in the dorm room to change into robes right there, without the inconvenience of ducking into her bed or the loo. Before she left for brunch, she retrieved several stasis bottles she'd charmed from her trunk and stowed them in a small silk pouch with an undetectable extension on it. She then strapped on her holster and boots from the night before, and exited the dorm and common room.

The castle was all but deserted except for the first and second years, as most of the older students took advantage of the sunny weather. The crisp autumn day was likely to be one of the last to enjoy the outdoors before winter gripped the countryside. Julia made the familiar trek to Hogsmeade and stopped by the Three Broomsticks, ordering a coffee and a ham sandwich from the attractive middle-aged bartender. The place was nearly deserted, but she did spot Neville Longbottom and Julie Parks sitting together at one of the booths, engrossed in conversation.

"_Good for him_," Julia thought to herself as she sipped her coffee.

He caught her looking at him and she raised her cup with a knowing grin. He smoothly gave her a small wave out of Park's line of sight before going back to making eye contact with his date and smiling. Good boy.

She smirked and drained her cup, dropped a few coins on the table, and carried her croissant with her as she left. Julia walked around the back of the building, checked to make sure she wasn't being watched, then twirled her wand about herself, disappearing from view. She knew the hag would be weakest in direct sunlight, so it would be best to find her when the sun was highest in the sky. Julia strode to the edge of the village and cut across the field between Hogsmeade and the Forbidden Forest. Looking into the forest now, it was definitely a lot less foreboding during the day, but that was perhaps misleading because it was only slightly less dangerous. Julia entered the forest from farther to the south than she had the previous night and hiked for several long minutes until she was sure she was out of sight.

She pulled out the broom again and enlarged it, then released her disillusionment charm.

"_Sequitur navis,_" she said, releasing her wand. The wood levitated up about six inches from her hand, swivelled, and pointed to the east northeast. Julia mounted the broom and rose up above the treetops, again staying low and out of sight from anyone outside the forest and moving steadily towards where her tracking spell sent her. She repeated the spell several times until she came upon a small rocky mound in the forest. A few more muttered tracking spells pointed directly into the mound, and she knew she'd found the hag's lair. She summoned a pinecone from the forest floor, transfigured it into a porcupine, and dropped it onto the rocky miniature hillock. The creature bounced and rolled a few times, but it didn't spontaneously combust.

"_Perhaps the hag is relying on staying hidden to keep it safe during the day?"_ Julia thought.

Julia slowly descended to land on top of the mound, then shrank her broom and walked around the earth and stone structure. It was perhaps fifty feet across and about twenty feet high, covered in moss in places, but she didn't see anything resembling an entrance. She tapped her wand against her thigh as she felt her patience evaporating like a snowball in front of fiendfyre.

"_Screw this_," she thought.

She sent several cutting hexes up into the branches above the mound, switching to reductor curses where the wood was too thick, and cleared away all the remaining leaves so the sun shone down cleanly on the hag's hiding place, then she stood back about twenty feet.

"Knock knock," she said, aiming directly at the side of the small hillock, "_Confringo._"

The blasting curse smashed into the mound, blowing chunks of rock and dirt into the air and revealing a hollow darkness within the structure. The debris hadn't even fallen to the ground when a huge gout of flame spewed forth from the mound, and Julia's eyes widened. She dove to the side and felt the wave of heat pass by, and she knew the woods behind her had started burning. Quickly she ran around to the side of the mound to get out of sight of the hole. Thick undergrowth snagged her robes but luckily no more fire spewed out of the mouth of the small cave.

"_Aguamenti_," she said, dousing her boots, which were smoking vigorously.

"_Right, get the sunlight shining down on her_," she thought.

"_Reducto, Bombarda, Evanesco,_" she said, this time aiming at the top of the mound. She moved around to the back of the mound after loosening it up with the more powerful spells, using her wand to levitate large boulders off the top and vanishing clumps of dirt until the entire top of the mound was gone.

Then she cautiously clambered up the side and peered over the lip, wand ready. The room below was covered in dirt, but she could make out some wooden furniture and what looked like blood stains on the floor. She took a step closer to try and find the hag when a pair of strong hands grabbed her foot from the darkness beneath the edge of the lip of the hovel and pulled, hard. Bellatrix realized her mistake immediately; the low angle of the autumn sun wasn't enough to cover the room completely. She only had time for a wordless cushioning charm and she wasn't even sure if that had any effect because she landed painfully on her back on some kind of bird's cage, her weight bending it completely out of shape. The one-eyed hag leered at her from the darkness against the wall, rows of razor sharp pointed teeth appearing behind her lips as they peeled back in a feral grin. Up close, her skin was patched, greenish and brown, peeling and flaking off in places. Her rags only barely covered her form, both her hands and feet ended in wicked claws, and she reeked like brackish seawater.

Julia raised her wand but the hag twisted her ankle painfully and clamped her jaws down on her foot. Bellatrix heard herself scream as she felt her flesh tear and the delicate bones in her foot snapped. The hag's grubby hand grabbed a fistful of Bellatrix's thigh and began dragging her into the shade. Bella saw her life and dreams ending right there in this hovel in the woods; she knew she was done for if she let herself be dragged into the shadow.

"_CRUCIO!_" she yelled, and the red beam hit its mark, causing the hag to release its own scream of pain and arch its back to an impossible degree. Unbelievably, the one-eyed hag fought through the pain and snapped its fingers, causing a whip of flame to appear in one hand.

"_Levicorpus!" _Bellatrix said, lifting it up into the air, and herself along with it by the hand that was still clamped around her ankle. She flicked her wand, urging them both higher. As soon as they hit the sunlight above the wall, the fire vanished but the Hag wasn't done yet. It snapped it's fingers, causing Bella's robes to ignite, and started raking the claws of its free hand across Bellatrix's exposed calf, drawing lines of blood. Bellatrix growled and severed the limb holding her with a wordless cutting hex and crashed heavily to the ground again.

"_Aguamenti,_" she said, dousing herself before picking the severed limb from her ruined leg, tossing it aside, and standing up unsteadily on one leg. She raised her wand at the hag again, now helplessly suspended upside down in the sunlight, unable to perform magic despite repeatedly snapping its fingers. Green blood spattered the ground from her severed hand.

"Wait, wait," the hag rasped, holding out its remaining hand, "I will give you what you want, knowledge, power, please!"

"I want you to fucking die, _Anescere!_" Bellatrix said, performing the complex wand motions again.

The green lighting forked from her wand, and the hag shrieked in agony before disintegrating and falling to the ground in pieces and clouds of dust. Bellatrix covered her mouth but still breathed some in.

"_Oh Merlin, that's vile_," she thought as she coughed bits of disintegrated hag from her lungs.

She sat down on the dust and soil covered wooden floor and realized there was now a small pool of blood around her shredded boot. No way was she going to be able to heal this on her own.

She healed what she could with a quick _episky_ and transfigured the laces to pull themselves tight to try and stop further blood loss.

Looking above, she used her wand to cut a branch and fashion a crutch out of it, then hauled herself back to her feet and hobbled about a bit. The robe was a lost cause but it had done its job and mostly protected her from the flames. She discarded it into the dust.

"_Accio Hag's eye_," she said, figuring to try her luck. Nothing happened, not that she expected it to. In hindsight, she probably should have demanded the hag's eye before killing her. She started rifling through what remained of the hag's home. Runes and symbols were carved into the walls, some with blood, and several candlesticks sat on a table, each holding a different sized severed finger from what looked like various races ranging from house elves to what could only have been a giant's toe. Wooden shelves fastened to one wall contained several jars filled with various substances or body parts, including one which was filled with eyeballs. Unfortunately, none of the jars were labelled, but one of them had fallen and broken open during the fight, and Bella could see it was filled with dozens of bloody extracted teeth. The bird cage she'd fallen on held the smashed skeleton of what might have been a bird at one point. It was difficult to tell with the bones scattered across the floor. An overturned cauldron had sat in the centre of the room at one point, but it was empty.

Against the wall still in shadow where the hag had ambushed her, a small, crudely fashioned and blood-stained stone altar sat alone. Set atop the altar, right in the centre, was an odd looking dark coloured stone. Bellatrix limped over to it carefully, casting a few diagnostic spells as she went. She didn't see any wards or traps, but one could never know. The stone seemed to be important to the hag somehow, which meant that it could be valuable. There was a small crack running down the centre of the stone, and she used a piece of bone to turn it over. Bellatrix gasped and her eyes widened as she saw what was on the other side of the stone. It was the symbol, the same triangle and circle symbol that was on that fucking metal frame she'd been locked in the sub-vault with for almost four months. Immediately she knew this stone was important somehow and she pulled out one of the stasis jars she'd prepared for just this possibility. She opened the jar and held it over the stone, and it weightlessly rose into the jar and stayed there, suspended from the edges of the jar. Bellatrix snapped the jar shut and stowed it in her silk pouch, the stone moving with the jar, never touching the sides.

"_Where the fuck is that symbol from, I know I've seen it somewhere…_" she thought to herself as she rummaged around the rest of the hovel, searching for the Hag's eye. When the throbbing in her foot grew to a point where she could barely stand it, and the sun had moved across most of the sky and afternoon was threatening to turn into sunset, she decided to give it up as a lost cause. The one-eyed hag didn't have a hag's stone; perhaps she'd consumed it already.

Before she left, Bellatrix vanished up any blood she might have left on the ground; no need for either of the other two hags to find it and use it in some kind of nasty revenge ritual. She enlarged her broom again and swung her injured leg over the shaft, taking one last look around the former hag's lair. She looked down at the ruined dwelling, feeling like the job was incomplete. The fire that had started when the fight began had long since burnt out, but it gave her an idea. She summoned all the branches she'd cut down earlier, used her wand to stack them in the mound, and set them on fire with a few _incendios_. As smoke began to curl up above the former hag's hole, Bellatrix rose above the treetops and chased the sinking sun back towards the castle, flying slowly, fighting off the tiredness she knew was from blood loss. The chill air helped keep her awake until she made it to the entrance where she waved to several students returning from Hogsmeade.

"Julia?" Neville said, "what happened, are you alright?"

Julia looked over to see both Neville and Parks looking up at her, concern etched across their faces. Julia noticed Parks had her arm wrapped about Neville's elbow.

"Oh hey Neville," she said, surprised at how much she slurred her words, "yeah m'fine, just a little workout."

"You need to get to the Hospital Wing, right away," he said.

"Yeap, headin' there now," she said, inching through the double doors, still on her broom.

"I think I should come with you," he said.

"You gonna carry me if I fall off my broom?" she asked, swaying unsteadily.

"Careful, your girlfriend might get jealous," she said in a stage whisper.

"Oh, hiya Parks," she added, waving to the Gryffindor prefect. Parks just looked back at her with a mixture of shock and concern.

Neville's face reddened slightly, but he took the front of Julia's broom and towed her to the Infirmary.

"Madame Pomfrey?" Neville said, "Julia's been hurt."

The matron came bustling over.

"Oh my word," she said, "what happened?"

"Not sure," Neville said, "but she's bleeding pretty badly."

"Bit of exercise is all," Julia said, "Pomfrey, got any blood lying around? I seem to have misplaced most of mine."

Her vision had started to tunnel, and Julia knew she would pass out soon, which would be exceedingly bad if the disguise she'd created faded.

Madam Pomfrey levitated Julia off her broom and onto a bed, then fed her a pair of blood replenishing potions, which she sucked down greedily. Almost immediately she started feeling like herself again.

"Thank you Mr. Longbottom, Miss Parks," Pomfrey said, "she'll have to remain overnight."

"Right," Neville said, "feel better Julia."

Parks echoed his sentiment and the two of them departed.

"My foot's injured," Julia said.

"What happened to your foot?" Pomfrey asked, vanishing her boot and sock to reveal the twisted and mangled flesh beneath. Her toes were definitely not supposed to be pointed in that direction.

"Bit by a wild… dog," Julia said.

She probably should have come up with a better cover story, but getting seriously injured wasn't part of the plan.

"A wild dog," Pomfrey said dubiously, "and your trousers are burnt because…?"

"Tried to burn the dog off me?" Julia said.

"These aren't ordinary wounds," Pomfrey said, gently lifting Julia's calf and waving her wand over the girl's mangled foot.

"Might have been a foul, cruel, bad-tempered, cursed dog," Julia mumbled.

"with nasty, big, pointy teeth… Look, can you fix it or not?" she asked.

Pomfrey frowned at Julia for a long moment but then bustled off to the other side of the infirmary. Julia heard the sound of glass clinking, and soon the nurse returned with a tray of cups and bottles.

"Drink this, and this, for the pain," she said, passing two vials to Julia, who drank them down without question.

Pomfrey then waved her wand over Julia's broken foot, and the bones snapped into place with a sickening crunching sound. Thanks to the potions, it was a mild discomfort rather than the excruciating pain it probably would have been otherwise. Pomfrey waved her wand over her bleeding foot a few times and made a frustrated humming sound.

"These aren't normal bite wounds, what actually caused these?" she asked.

"Evil dog," Julia replied.

Pomfrey narrowed her eyes at her again and returned to the other side of the infirmary mumbling about irresponsible students before returning with some crushed dittany in a dish, and a few rolls of bandages. Pomfrey laid the herb on the cuts caused by the Hag's teeth and Julia immediately felt a soothing coolness spread across the limb. She sighed involuntarily and lay back, surrendering to Pomfrey's ministrations as she carefully wrapped her foot and calf in white bandages.

"We'll check on this tomorrow," the nurse said, "now drink the rest of these and get some rest."

Julia did as she was told, recognizing one of the potions as dreamless sleep. She immediately dozed off in the comforting care of Hogwarts' experienced nurse. She awoke to find the sun streaming in through the white curtains, and sat up to find a tray of potions next to her. She drank those down quickly and flexed her bandaged foot to find almost no pain. On the table next to her she saw a card, and picked it up.

_Dear Julia,_

_I heard you were in the hospital wing and stopped by to visit but you were sleeping. Hope you feel better soon! _

It was signed by Ginny and the rest of the quidditch team.

A carton of chocolate frogs sat next to the card, and Julia couldn't help but notice there was no card from Hermione; the girl had probably not even realized she was injured, as obsessed as she was over her little project. Julia frowned. Now she had no hag's eye, and no desire to tangle with the two remaining hags in the Forbidden Forest, which meant no potion. She'd have to come up with another plan.

Julia spent the whole day in the infirmary, most of it sleeping off the exertions of the previous day combined with her missing several hours the night she confronted the three hags. She itched to study the stone she'd found in the hag's lair, but she couldn't take the chance while bedridden. She woke up when she heard Neville's voice asking after her.

"Will she be alright?" he asked.

"She should make a full recovery," Pomfrey replied.

"Hi Neville," Julia said, surprised at how weak her voice sounded.

"Hey, Julia," Neville said, moving to her side, "how are you feeling?"

He glanced over his shoulder as Pomfrey moved to attend a few other patients.

"Who did this to you?" he whispered, his expression serious.

Julia shook her head.

"Nobody," she replied, "it was my own fault. I wanted to explore the forest, got bit by one of the… things living in there."

Neville shook his head slowly.

"That's… why would you do that? You could have been killed," he said, "it's forbidden for a reason."

"Live and learn I suppose," Julia replied.

"Try to be a bit more careful, okay?" he said.

Julia nodded, and Neville hesitated before reaching out and patting her uninjured knee through the sheets and quickly left.

Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey saw fit to release her to her dorm rather than keep her a second night. Wearing an enlarged hospital slipper over her bandaged foot, Julia hobbled her way up to the third floor before remembering she had her broom with her, and rode slowly the rest of the way up.  
"Hey, no brooms in the hallway!" a portrait yelled at her, but she ignored it. Stupid painting.

She dismounted in front of the Fat Lady, shrank her broom again, and ducked her way into the common room, ignored everyone there, and went straight to the dorm to find it empty. She picked out fresh nightclothes and took a quick shower, bringing the silk bag and her wand with her. She limped back to her bed, pulled the curtains closed, warded herself in, set up a _lumos_ charm so she could see, and carefully emptied the contents of the jar onto the bed. The stone dropped out onto her bedspread, looking like an ordinary rock. She cast a few diagnostic spells, but they revealed nothing. After checking for every kind of curse she could think of, Julia carefully picked the stone up. Nothing happened. Then the dormitory's door opened.

"Julia, are you in here?" Ginny asked.

Julia stuffed the stone into the silk bag and shoved it under her pillow before cancelling the wards and opening the bedcurtains.

"Hi Ginny," she said.

"Hi. What happened, are you okay?" Ginny asked.

"I was bit by some kind of dog, in the forbidden forest," Julia said, "I know, I shouldn't have gone in there. Neville already gave me a talking to."

"Why would you go in there?" Ginny asked, "are you mental?"

"Hey! I'm not crazy, alright?" Julia said, pointing a finger at Ginny. She deliberately took a breath to steady herself as the redhead's eyes widened at her outburst. Quickly she thought of a plausible explanation.

"I just… I heard all the stories about Hogwarts. About you, and Harry Potter, and all," she said, "and I was home schooled. I guess I wanted a bit of excitement is all. Suppose I got a bit more than I'd bargained for."

She did her best to look embarrassed.

"Are you going to be alright for the match on Saturday, just in case?" Ginny asked.

Julia arched an eyebrow.

"Of course," she replied.

"Good," Ginny said, "I'm going to shower and turn in, let me know if you need anything. Oh, Wesley Michaels was looking for you at dinner. I told him you'd been hurt."

"Okay, thanks Ginny," Julia replied. That's right, it was Sunday. She was supposed to be tutoring Michaels today. She'd have to reschedule, only because not following through on her commitment would look bad to Hermione.

Julia drew her curtains closed again and stowed her wand in the cubby above her head. She didn't want to risk getting caught with the stone, so she'd have to wait until the next day to find a quiet place to continue inspecting it. What to do about Hermione… there was no way to get closer to her if she couldn't spend any time with her, and she wouldn't be able to spend time with her while the mudblood was working on that extra credit project.

"_I'm going to have to do something about that project,_" she thought to herself. Still recovering from her injury, Julia slipped into a deep sleep.

The next week passed quickly. Julia spent her free time holed up in a warded empty classroom, trying to figure out the secret of the stone with the circle and triangle symbol inscribed on it, but no matter what spell she cast or activation phrases she tried, nothing happened. When she wasn't inspecting the stone, she was in the library unsuccessfully scouring ever more obscure texts for the symbol carved on the stone, and pondering the issue of Hermione's project. Since the Golden Girl refused to let her know what the project was about, or even entertain the notion of letting her help, Bellatrix had decided to take matters into her own hands. She figured if Hermione suffered a setback, she'd be more likely to let Julia help. Normally it wouldn't be too difficult to arrange a small accident in a potions lab, but Hermione had warded hers, and Julia didn't think she could break through, arrange a mishap, and get back out without Hermione or someone else figuring out the wards had been tampered with. That wouldn't do at all.

It was days of pondering before she hit on the solution. It happened when a house elf apparated into her room, picked up her laundry basket, and apparated out with a pop. She smacked her palm into her forehead with an audible slap.

"_Idiot, the elves can apparate in Hogwarts_," she thought, "_and Hermione didn't ward her lab against apparition, because why would she?_"

She knew the perfect time to make her move, too. 7th year Arithmancy, which Hermione attended but Julia hadn't signed up for because it was boring as fuck the first time around, and because she'd learned in August that Ginny Weasley didn't take it, so she didn't sign up when requesting her classes.

That Friday, Julia waited in an empty classroom until she was sure Hermione was in Arithmancy.

"Kreacher," she said.

The house elf appeared with a pop.

"Mistress Bella calls?" the elf said.

"Shh! Don't call me that here," Julia said, looking around as if someone might hear her in the deserted room.

"Do you know about the second potions lab, the one Hermione Granger uses?" she asked.

"Kreacher knows of the place young miss speaks of, and of Harry Potter's friend Granger," Kreacher replied.

"Can you apparate me inside of the lab?" Julia asked, a predatory grin spreading across her face.

Kreacher nodded.

"Take me there now," Julia said, extending an arm to the ancient elf. Without a word, he grasped her by the wrist and side-alonged her into Hermione's potions lab. The structure of the room was as she remembered from her own schooldays, before the lab had gone out of use, but that was all that was the same. Blackboards on wheels lined the walls of the room, every inch of them covered in chalk: arithmancy equations, derivations, and charts. Julia flipped one over to find the back side was also covered in chalk notes. She recognized some of the Arithmancy, but it was extremely complicated, way beyond NEWT level. Three of the tables held bubbling cauldrons, and three more had multiple ingredients in the process of being chopped, weighed, and separated. Another two tables held books, separated into piles of Herbology, Arithmancy, Potions, and Charms. On one side of the room, where the professor would normally lecture, a full-sized tent was pitched, taking up a good portion of the platform. The platform sat behind a separate ward, probably to protect the tent from any potions mishaps while Hermione was sleeping.

Julia ignored everything and went straight to the storeroom. Inside, the ingredients were perfectly sorted and labelled in Hermione's neat script, much better than Sluggy was capable of. One side of the storeroom contained racks of ingredients that were already opened, and the other contained full jars or crates.

"_Let's see, what do we have here…_" Julia thought, picking through the full jars, "_Concentrated powdered erumpent horn, fire ivy, and salamander eggs, those will do nicely._"

She moved some of the more volatile ingredients next to each other, pulled out some of the fire ivy, and, sealing it with a tiny bubblehead charm before it could ignite, wrapped it around a half-dozen salamander eggs. This she dropped into the full jar of powdered erumpent horn. When the bubblehead charm wore off, the fire ivy would burn, activating the salamander eggs. The eggs would burn even hotter than the ivy, in turn igniting the extremely volatile powdered erumpent horn. That should take care of most of the ingredients in the storeroom, and the cauldrons on the tables, setting the project back significantly. Hermione would be delayed for at least a week or two while the school purchased new supplies, during which time Julia could convince her to accept an offer to help, or at least spend some time with her.

"Kreacher," Julia said, and the elf reappeared with a pop.

"Take me back to the empty classroom, and you are never to inform anyone about bringing me here," she said.

"Kreacher hears and obeys," the house elf said, grasping her arm and side-along apparating her to the classroom as instructed.

"Thank you Kreacher," Julia said, "you're free to resume your duties in the kitchens."

The elf nodded and popped away again, while Julia made her way to the Great Hall to make sure she was seen when the explosion happened. All she had to do now was wait…


	10. Chapter 10

Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Chapter 10

Hermione stirred the shepherd's pie around on her plate, still pondering the equation she'd left on the blackboard in her lab.

"Is the food not to your liking, Miss Granger?" Slughorn asked from her left.

"Oh. It's delicious, I'm just not that hungry," Hermione replied, forcing her lips into a smile she didn't feel. While technically he should have been helping guide her research, the rotund potions professor had been next to useless with his perpetually cheery demeanour and tendency to rapidly shift subjects, often to talk about himself or his social connections. Then again, Slughorn was under no obligation to let her use the school's potion stores, indeed, she could not imagine Severus Snape ever allowing a student to do what she was attempting, so attending these events to be shown off by him was a sort of payment in gratitude, she supposed. It didn't mean she had to like them though.

Slughorn nodded and didn't press the issue, appearing to appreciate the considerable stress she was under. Hermione looked about the empty classroom converted into a private dining room. Old tapestries depicting various courts or feats of magic, dug up from somewhere in the castle, hung about the walls, and a large table covered with maroon cloth dominated the centre of the room. About a dozen students attended the year's first Slug Club soiree, most of whom Hermione already knew.

"A toast, to Hogwarts' best and brightest," Slughorn said with a wide grin, raising his glass.

Hermione lifted her glass so as not to be rude, and faked taking a sip. The door opened from behind her and a familiar face, Terry Boot, entered and took the empty seat beside her. His midnight blue robes were a bit more stylised and tailored than the school robes Hermione recalled seeing him in previous years, the form flattering clothing accented by a light blue trim.

"Ah, here he is. We have a returning student today who was gracious enough to take time out of his schedule to join us," Slughorn said, "after I introduced him to a former student of mine who went on to become a partner at Tilworth and Jones, one of the top law firms in Britain, Mr. Terry Boot has begun an esteemed position as an apprentice barrister. Congratulations Mr. Boot, all the best in your burgeoning career."

Hermione eagerly smiled for real and joined in round of applause as Terry smiled and raised his hands in a humble and appreciative gesture, then nervously brushed his straight brown hair back. Terry had been part of Dumbledore's Army and had fought in the battle of Hogwarts, and Hermione considered him a close acquaintance, if not an actual friend.

"Alright then, please feel free to mingle," Slughorn said with almost inappropriate pleasantness as several house elves entered from the door to collect the plates. Once they were gone, the large table shrank down and levitated itself out the door as several smaller high tables floated in and placed themselves randomly about the room to make it easier to move about and chat. Hermione's chair vanished as soon as she stood up. The elves returned, each bearing a platter of either drinks, including several that bubbled and gave off white smoke, or small sweet cakes, chocolates, and eclairs for dessert. Hermione found her mind pondering the basics of an arithmantic equation to predict the dispersion and relative opacity of the smoke from the drinks when Ginny gravitated over to her.

"Have you heard about Julia?" Ginny asked.

"No, what about her?" Hermione replied. She'd expected White to be here for sure; she had the second highest marks of their year so far, behind only Hermione herself.

"She's in the hospital wing, injured in the Forest over Hogsmeade," Ginny said.

"That's terrible," Hermione said, forehead creasing as her eyebrows shot up, "is she alright?"

"Pomfrey said she'll make a full recovery," Ginny said.

"But that's not all," the redhead added, lowering her voice, "she snuck out the night before she was injured. I think she went to the Forest that night too."

Hermione blinked and shook her head. She didn't have any free time to spare unravelling any mysteries.

"What do you think it means?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," Ginny said, chewing the inside of her lip, "it's probably nothing. She did help a muggleborn student earlier…"

"Oh no," Hermione muttered as Slughorn spotted them and lumbered over.

"Ah, here's the captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, and the brains of the Golden Trio," Slughorn said.

"Hello Professor Slughorn," Ginny said, "lovely party."

"Thank you, thank you," Slughorn replied, "have you given any thought to your careers after Hogwarts, either of you?"

It was something Hermione hadn't considered, and couldn't really think about right now, so she merely shook her head.

"I was thinking of trying out for professional quidditch," Ginny said, "depending on how this year goes."

"Ah, I'm afraid I must root against you in the upcoming match but I can't say I like Slytherin's chances this year," Slughorn said, "but you know, Gwenog Jones is a former student of mine. She's a manager of a professional quidditch club now; I might be able to put in a good word for you."

"Could you? That would be fantastic," Ginny said, putting on a smile.

"Of course, of course, it would be my pleasure," Slughorn said, "Come, let's take a photo to commemorate the occasion."

Hermione inwardly grimaced, but this was why she was here, after all, wasn't it? Slughorn stood between the two girls and Ginny reached out to grip her hand behind the professor's back as Michael Corner lined up the photo. Hermione steeled herself before the flash went off. It didn't seem to be so bad this time; perhaps it was indeed getting better with time, as Harry had suggested.

"Excellent, I'll reach out to Gwenog, it's been too long since we spoke anyway; you two young ladies enjoy yourselves," Slughorn said before wandering off to another group of students while Michael remained behind.

"Hi Ginny," he said.

"Hello Michael," Ginny replied.

"So… enjoying the party?" he asked.

"Yep," Ginny said, popping the 'p' sound.

There was a pause, and Hermione looked back and forth between the two.

"Come along, Mr. Corner," Slughorn called from several feet away.

"Right, see you," he said, moving off after Slughorn, "oh good luck against Slytherin, not that you'll need it."

"Bye Michael," Ginny said.

She turned away from him, towards Hermione and mouthed 'awkward' at her while giving her a look.

"What was… OH," Hermione said, eyes widening, "I forgot, you dated."

"Yeah, he's been acting odd around me this year, especially with Harry not around," Ginny said.

"But he knows you're still together, right?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, which is why if you see him running off with bat-bogies coming out his nose, you'll know why," Ginny said.

Hermione actually chuckled a bit at that. It felt good to laugh, even for just a moment.

Ginny smiled at her.

"Fancy an éclair?" she asked.

"I really have to get back," Hermione said, "I think I'm close to a breakthrough."

Ginny's smile faded.

"Just one," Ginny said.

"I'm fine, Ginny," Hermione replied, "but alright, I'll take one with me."

They wandered over to a platter carried by an elf and picked an éclair each. Hermione bit into half of it. Idly, she wondered if there was an equation based on tooth surface area, biting force, and relative pastry toughness that would predict how much cream would leak out of an éclair, and in which direction. Terry wandered up and picked up an pastry from the same tray.

"Hello Hermione," he said, "haven't seen you since May."

"I've been busy," Hermione said, "congratulations on your apprenticeship."

Terry smiled.

"Thank you, it's quite an opportunity," he said, "Tillworth and Jones are well respected; I'm just hoping I'm good enough despite not having my NEWTs. I thought there was a lot to learn at Hogwarts, but it's nothing compared to learning on the job."

"I'm sure you'll be fine Terry," Hermione said, "I wager you'll make a great barrister someday."

Terry smiled and nodded.

"Hope so," Terry said, "I'm going to say hello to a few others, see you around. Good luck with NEWTs."

They waved bye to each other and Hermione turned back to Ginny.

"Thank you for letting me know about Julia, I'll try to visit the infirmary tomorrow," she said.

"You're leaving? Take me with you?" Ginny asked.

The two of them weaved through students and ducked out of the door. Hermione immediately set off down the corridor towards her lab, but glanced back at the door to see Ginny staring after her, a small frown on her features, éclair still unbitten. Hermione gave her a wave and returned to her work, popping the rest of her dessert into her mouth as she walked.

"_I know what I'm doing,_" she thought as she stepped into the laboratory.

She did not manage to see Julia the next day, or the day after, or all of that week, in fact. Instead, she huddled in her lab, only coming out for classes or to return or check out a book from the library. The tent felt large and empty without her boys, but it allowed her to avoid any unnecessary distractions and save time by not walking all the way from the dungeons to Gryffindor Tower, twice every day. Every second counted, after all. Weeks had gone by much the same. Each night, she told herself she would head to bed earlier, but inevitably, she ended up staying up well past the time she set for herself, cataloguing or preparing ingredients, working on or researching Arithmancy, or noting down her theories and methods of determining whether they were accurate or not. She'd already hit several dead-ends but forced herself onwards every night until her eyes literally started closing by themselves, at which point she would crash in the tent, often still clothed, only to drag herself to first period a few hours later.

She had several experiments going at the same time, the results of which would factor into her planning for the rest of the term. She did need to ask Professor Vector a few questions, so she was looking forward to her late morning Arithmancy class.

Halfway through chopping some hemlock, her timing charm buzzed, notifying her it was time to leave. She finished the current shoot, picked up the textbook from the table, stuffed it into her bag, left her dragonhide gloves on the counter, and departed for class.

All through Arithmancy she couldn't shake the feeling she'd forgotten something, and she shifted in her seat several times. Towards the end of class, there was a muffled whump which sounded disturbingly reminiscent of an explosion. Hermione glanced around and all of the other students had definitely heard it as well. She sat uncomfortably as Vector continued her lecture, but Hermione's thoughts were on that explosion, and whether her lab was okay. Then Peeves came hurtling down the hall, followed closely by the bloody baron.

"Fire! Fire in the dungeons!" the poltergeist yelled, "quick, somebody pee on it! Ha Ha Ha, Hahahaha! Ho ho ho!"

He continued on through the roof, cackling like a fiend.

"Peeves! You're not helping, you pathetic excuse of a poltergeist!" the baron yelled, following the trickster spirit through the roof.

"_Oh no. No, no, no, no_," Hermione thought.

She stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor.

"Professor, may I be excused from class?" she asked.

Vector paused in her lecture to look at her.

"Of course, Miss Granger," she said.

Hermione was already halfway to the door. She stuffed her book into her bag and broke into a trot once she reached the end of the hall, which sped into full sprint after rounding the banister at the first floor. Her wand found its way into her hand at the stairs to the dungeons when smoke first reached her nostrils. Racing around the corner, her heart stopped for a moment when she saw Slughorn and several students standing outside her lab. Black smoke leaked out of the closed door and drifted along the ceiling.

"Hermione! We can't get through the wards!" Tracey Davis said.

Hermione took a deep shuddering breath and ran the rest of the way to her lab, cancelling the wards with a few waves of her wand.

"You three, get out of here," Davis said, trying to shove the three Gryffindors in frilly pink outfits down the hall.

"No way, you bloody snake, we're helping," one of them said, Hermione thought his name was Wildy. Tracey growled in frustration, but she was interrupted by Slughorn placing a bubblehead charm about his head. The others quickly followed suit. Slughorn waved his wand and the heavy lab door opened, flooding the hallway with thick, acrid, black smoke.

"_My lab!_" Hermione thought.

The room was a disaster. The stone wall of the storeroom had been shattered, and broken glass and small fires littered the lab. All the cauldrons had overturned, and ingredients were strewn across the floor, sparking and smoking various colours. The tent, protected behind additional wards, was untouched, but almost all the rest of the room was damaged in some fashion.

Hermione snapped back to attention to see the others clustered near the edge of what used to be the storeroom. Several ingredients burned freely there, probably salamander eggs, spraying sparks and flames in all directions and causing shadows to jump wildly on the walls and ceiling. She was the only one still standing by the door.

"_Aguamenti_," Wildy said.

"NO!" Slughorn, Davis, and Hermione all shouted at the same time, but it was too late.

The water from the spell only caused the flames to surge and roar; all of the ingredients still in the destroyed storeroom began mixing freely with each other. A blue shockwave of magic pushed the professor and students back a few feet, and Hermione felt its strength even from where she stood. A pair of small tornadoes sprung up, quickly growing to several feet in height, and started chasing each other about the room, arcs of yellow electricity jumping about their funnels. Flames quickly spun up the tornadoes, and Hermione watched in horror as the clouds expanded upwards, forming miniature thunderheads near the ceiling. In just a few seconds, a torrential downpour and gale force wind kicked up in the lab, lashing all of them with heavy rain and pelting small potions ingredients sucked up and thrown by the flaming twisters. The clouds flickered with lighting, threatening to strike down into the lab.

"_Meteolojinx Recanto, Finite Incantatem," _Hermione said, dispelling the conjured rainstorm and tornadoes, several of the sputtering reactions on the floor, and the magical lights in the potions lab.

"You can't use water on a potions fire," Slughorn said, his voice slightly muffled by the bubblehead charm, "the incantation is Inersum Caelis. Say it with me now!"

Slughorn, Hermione, Tracey, Wildy, Marcos, and Stevens lined up, facing the what remained of the storeroom and pointed their wands at it, faces lit orange by the fire still burning in front of them.

"_Inersum Caelis!" _they said together, and a hissing sound and a small distortion appeared from their wands. It took nearly half a minute, but the flames shrank, struggled, sputtered, and died, leaving the room in darkness.

"_Lumos_," everyone but Hermione said.

Hermione turned and looked around the blasted and ruined lab with shuddering breaths and pounding heart, wand held loosely at her side. Potion ingredients and rubble from the demolished wall littered the room. Partially brewed potions from the overturned cauldrons mixed on the floor, and beakers and alembics lay shattered and dripping. The blackboards had been all but wiped clean by the torrential rains and wind. She felt a sob catch in her chest as she reached the centre of the lab and sat down cross-legged in the giant puddle there, just looking around at the devastation. She thought someone might have called her name but she couldn't really hear them. The lab was ruined, months of work gone. She would never get her parents back. She would never hug her mother or father again, and they would never know they had a daughter. She'd taken the most precious thing in the world away from them, and they didn't even know it. The tears came then, hot and fast, alongside a horrible aching pain in her chest. The Golden Girl bent forward, elbows on her legs, heels of her hands pressed to her forehead, and wept.

Hermione peeled her eyes open some time later, and dully realized she'd woken up in the infirmary. Again. At least it was daylight outside and not the middle of the night. Then she remembered what had happened. The lab accident, her work ruined. She felt like going back to sleep, at least then she didn't have to remember. What had gone wrong? Had she forgotten to close the fire ivy perhaps? Or placed an ingredient in the wrong container? She couldn't really remember. Blank spots were a side effect of sleep deprivation and she definitely had had that in abundance over the past two months. Hermione didn't even recall how she'd gotten to the Hospital Wing. She vaguely thought she'd been helped or led upstairs, and then levitated at some point. Ginny might have been there as well. She stopped trying to remember, because it didn't matter. She stopped trying to think of anything at all and rolled onto her side, only to see a massive stack of get-well cards, gifts, and candies. It filled the entire night table and a few had even spilled onto the floor.

"_How long have I been sleeping?_" she thought.

She leaned over and rifled through the stack of cards, looking for dates. She'd been out for at least two days. Hermione pulled out an envelope with her name written in Ron's nearly illegible handwriting, and tore it open to read the card within.

_Hi Hermione,_

_Heard you were in the Hospital Wing because of a potions accident, hope you're alright. I'm sure you'll figure it out, you always do._

_Harry and I are fine. We would have come up to visit but Mackenzie wouldn't let us away unless they admitted you to St. Mungo's. We think we might be done with our training soon, which means we might get some more time. It would be good to see you again. _

_Anyway, you know I'm not very good with writing letters. Hope you feel better soon._

_Love,_

_Ron_

"_He doesn't know_," Hermione thought, "_he doesn't know what happened, or how completely devastated you are right now, otherwise he'd be here in a second._"

Logically, she knew this to be true, but it still pained her to go through this by herself, and she felt a pang of disappointment despite telling herself it wasn't fair to judge him for what he didn't know. Did she want to tell him? If she were honest with herself, she didn't want to do anything at all. She sat up slowly and realized she'd been changed into a hospital gown. The creak of the Hospital Wing doors opening caught her attention, and Madam Pomfrey came into her field of vision a moment later, performing her morning check of patients.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Miss Granger," she said, waving her wand in the flowing motions of a few diagnostic spells, "how do you feel?"

"Thirsty, tired," Hermione croaked, her voice scratchy from disuse, "and…"

She felt another bout of tears coming on but forced them down.

"Alone," she said, "I feel very alone."

"I'm not surprised," Pomfrey said, "if what I've heard is accurate, you've barely spoken to anyone outside of classes since you arrived. When you came in, three days ago, mind you, you were distraught, and suffering from severe sleep deprivation and general exhaustion. I had to sedate you. Do you remember any of that?"

Hermione shook her head. She knew it was true, but hearing it in such stark terms made it real.

"The human body can only be pushed so far before it begins to push back," Pomfrey said, "fortunately, it looks like there won't be any permanent injury to you or anyone else due to the potions accident, inexplicable insistence on pushing yourself to exhaustion notwithstanding."

At least there was that, she would have felt even worse if someone had been injured.

"The Headmistress asked to see you as soon as you are well enough, and I think you are," Pomfrey said, "after that I'm ordering you to your dormitory to sleep naturally as much as you can for the rest of the week. You'll be excused from class."

Hermione was about to object but Pomfrey talked over her.

"No excuses. If I find you've gone back to that lab before the week is out, I'll have you restrained and sedated again, do I make myself clear?" she asked.

"Yes Madam Pomfrey, perfectly clear," Hermione said. The nurse could be quite forceful when she wanted to.

"Good, that's settled," Pomfrey said, "why don't you change into robes, and I'll notify the Headmistress you're on your way."

Hermione stood up on shaky legs, pulled the curtain around her, drank the entire glass of water sitting next to the stack of cards, got dressed, then trekked to McGonagall's office. Her breaths came heavy and she noticed she had started sweating a bit by the time she reached the stone gargoyle, despite the slow pace of her steps.

"Hermione Granger here to see the Headmistress," she said. The stone guardian didn't respond, but the staircase opened with a grating, shifting sound, and she stepped in and rode the top step all the way up.

It was the first time she'd been in the Headmistress' office since the battle. The portraits of past headmasters remained, looking down at the current steward of the school, but the interior had been almost completely redone. Gone were the tables with the odd devices of Dumbledore's, as well as Fawkes' perch, and the candy dish. Instead, a pair of comfortable armchairs sat by the fireplace, and low wooden bookshelves covered with parchment and quills were set at irregular intervals. A green pillow and partially finished blue and purple afghan, complete with a pair of crochet hooks, sat out in the open atop one such bookcase. The massive headmaster's desk, however, remained, and McGonagall sat behind it, looking down at Hermione through her glasses, her lips already nothing more than a very thin line, which was never a good sign.

The bushy haired girl felt extremely small as she passed beneath the august gaze of Hogwarts' former headmasters. Almost all of them had done something extraordinary in their lives, from creating new spells, to discovering uses of magical ingredients, to curing disease. Most of them had spent decades on their life's work. How could she have ever imagined she had even the remotest chance of achieving something so monumentally significant as a cure for obliviation damage in just a few short months, when she'd not even graduated? Hermione glanced up at Dumbledore's portrait to find him asleep, but Snape sneered down at her from beside Albus' portrait.

"Have a seat, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, gesturing with one hand.

Hermione slid into one of the chairs facing the desk.

"You have always been one of the best students this school has ever seen, Miss Granger," McGonagall started, "your contributions to overthrowing You-Know-Who and ending one of the darkest periods in our history cannot be understated. It was for these reasons Professor Slughorn and I placed a great deal of trust in you when I allowed you the use of a potions lab and the school's stores of ingredients. We trusted that you would exercise caution, and responsibly care for school property. I must say I was sorely disappointed when I heard that trust had been misplaced."

McGonagall's words stung and Hermione swallowed. She'd always been Hermione's favourite professor, and someone she considered a role model.

"I'm sorry Professor," Hermione said, "I'll accept whatever punishment you deem fair."

McGonagall's stern gaze softened somewhat.

"I'm not going to punish you, Miss Granger. From what Professor Slughorn told me of the aftermath of the accident, you've suffered enough," McGonagall said, "however, my responsibility is ultimately to the students of this school. A number of the destroyed potions ingredients and reagents were rare and costly, and due to this year's low enrolment, they cannot be easily replaced. We have enough remaining within the budget to get through exams, if we are careful. Professor Slughorn and I are in agreement. As much as I would like to help you, I cannot risk sacrificing the potions education of our student body for one student's independent study."

"I understand, Headmistress," Hermione said, the weight of her misstep growing ever more crushing.

"So," Snape's drawl echoed down from above, "Hermione Granger has bitten off more than she can chew and put students at risk through her reckless actions. Why am I not surprised? You always did have an overinflated opinion of yourself, especially when it came to potions."

"Severus! This is not the time," McGonagall said, glaring up at him. The portrait sneered down at them and Hermione felt tears welling up in her eyes again as she stared at McGonagall's desk. She willed them not to fall. She absolutely would not cry over a few insults from Severus Snape's portrait.

"You will still have access to the classrooms, and there are other unused potions labs you could make use of," McGonagall said, "but Hermione…"

Hermione looked up at her use of her given name.

"All of us have suffered loss," McGonagall said, "some more than others. I urge you to reconsider. How many years are you willing to devote to this task? Because I fear the answer is 'as many as it takes'; this will not end when you graduate in May. Don't burn away the life of one of the most promising witches I've known, in pursuit of something that may not be possible."

The tears fell then, at the praise from her Headmistress, but Hermione didn't wipe them away.

"Thank you Professor," she said, "I'll… consider your words."

"Good," McGonagall replied, conjuring a monogrammed handkerchief and holding it out across the massive desk.

The distance Hermione stretched to take the handkerchief felt like a symbolic chasm between her, the bumbling student, and Professor McGonagall, Headmistress of the most prestigious school for witchcraft and wizardry in the world, as she stood to take it and dabbed the corner of her eyes, before folding it and placing it neatly on the desk.

"Now, you're not to attend classes for the rest of the week," McGonagall said, "Madam Pomfrey was adamant you rest and recover. I trust you don't need to be monitored?"

"No Professor, I'll return to my dorm now," Hermione replied.

"Rest well, Miss Granger," McGonagall replied with a nod.

Hermione left the office and walked up the nearly deserted corridors back to Gryffindor tower, her body still protesting the physical exertion. The castle blurred as tears kept coming, and she let the wet tracks stay on her cheeks and drip onto her robes and corridor floors. She just didn't care that she looked a fright, and anyone who might see and judge could sod off. She entered the red and gold common room and mostly ignored the questions with a muttered 'I'm fine' and walked up to the dorm she was supposed to share with Ginny and Julia. Upon opening the door, she saw all of the well-wishing gifts and cards had already been moved from the Hospital Wing to her bedside table. Not feeling especially tired at the moment, she kicked off her shoes, sat cross-legged on her bed, and started going through the cards. The first one had her name crossed out and replaced with Miss Granger, which was also crossed out.

_Hi,_

_I'm sorry I caused the rainstorm in the potions lab and ruined your work, I'll understand if you hate me for it. Just know that I always looked up to you, because you were Harry Potters friend, and always seemed to know everything. I'm so so sorry, for making you cry like that. I was too young to join Dumbledore's Army or fight in the battle, and I only wanted to help you for a change instead of always the other way around. I don't think there's any way I can make it right, but just say the word and we'll do whatever you need. Get better soon. _

_All for one, and one for all._

_Eric Wildy_

Hermione sighed. Much as she would have liked to blame someone, it wasn't really Wildy's fault. If she hadn't messed something up to cause the explosion and fire in the first place, there wouldn't have been a problem. She stood up to pick another card but Ginny chose that moment to walk through the door.

"You're back," she said, dropping her books, walking to Hermione's bed, and drawing her into a hug.

"Ginny," Hermione said, into Ginny's hair, "it's ruined. It's all ruined."

"Shh," Ginny said, patting her back, "it's okay."

"_I mean… I know that's what people are supposed to say when someone is upset, but…_" Hermione thought, as she felt indignation rising from her gut.

"It's not okay, Ginny, it's a disaster," Hermione said, pulling back, "McGonagall's forbidden me from using the potions stores. It's over. Even if I came up with a theoretical solution, I've no way to test it."

"Solution for what?" Julia asked as she stepped into the room, "also, I heard you were pretty upset over that potions accident Hermione, are you okay?"

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. Fuck it, she didn't care who knew anymore.

"I obliviated my parents a little over a year ago, and gave them a compulsion to move to Australia," Hermione said, monotone, "to keep them safe after Voldemort took over the Ministry. Now I'm trying to find a way to fix what I did, a way to cure obliviation damage."

Julia seemed at a loss of words for a moment, several emotions warring for dominance on her face at once.

"So, if you can't do it…" Julia finally said.

"I've lost my parents forever," Hermione said, feeling tears stinging her eyes again, "I should have listened to you Julia, you tried to warn me I was too tired."

Julia looked confused for a moment, then shook her head.

"I should have pressed you harder," Julia said, all but forcing the words out, "but if I were in your shoes, I'd probably do the same thing. I didn't exactly get along with my parents, but they were still my parents. Out of curiosity, how were you planning to do it?"

Hermione looked at Julia, who unlike everyone else she'd told, hadn't said it was impossible. Julia, who'd previously offered to help, and who had the second highest scores in their class.

"I was… I was thinking perhaps there were two possible routes," Hermione said slowly. She hadn't divulged her theories to anyone yet, but at this point, she figured she had nothing to lose.

"I could try to have the damaged memories repair themselves, or I could somehow cause the obliviated parts of the mind to revert to a previous state, before they were erased," Hermione said.

"Isn't that the same thing?" Ginny asked.

"Not really, but either would have the same effect," Hermione said, "Theoretically, the second option might be possible with a modified de-aging charm. The hard part would be to only affect the parts of the mind which were damaged, and making sure everything still connected properly when the memories settled, or at least connected properly enough so the obliviated mind could finish the repairs on its own without going mad."

Julia furrowed her brow and nodded.

"But a normal charm wouldn't be able to identify the missing memories and repair them at the same time," Julia said.

Hermione nodded. She got it. Julia got it.

"That's why I was hoping to use a potion combined with a charm," Hermione said, "once in the bloodstream, the potion could identify the damaged areas and prime them for a customised charm to affect only them."

Julia looked at her in disbelief.

"But you'd have to take everything into account for the potion to make sure it worked properly with the same charm, every time," she asked, "weight, blood type, gender, age, the extent of the damage…."

"Hence the arithmancy," Hermione said, "the potion would probably need to be an extremely exacting brew so the charm could be the same every time, otherwise there would be just too many variables, and the process would simply be too risky."

Julia chewed her lower lip in thought, and Ginny looked completely out of her depth.

"I was almost done with the experiments to determine whether to go the repair route or the rejuvenation route, and it looked like repairing the damage was a dead end, but… I guess none of that matters now," Hermione said, "the potions accident created a rainstorm and wiped away all my notes from the blackboards."

She sat back down on the bed and sighed heavily, shoulders hunched. It seemed she had no more tears, but that didn't stop the aching in her chest or the burning in her eyes.

"On top of that, the potions reagents were destroyed, and McGonagall… Professor McGonagall, says I can't use any more of the school's supply," Hermione said, "and I don't have enough gold… I mean I'm starting to receive royalties from the book, but it won't be enough."

There was a pause.

"Wait, you're receiving royalties from that Lord Voldemort book?" Julia asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Harry Ron and I all are. Large portions of it are based on interviews with us," she said.

Julia sat down on the bed with one leg crooked so she could face her.

"You shouldn't give up on this Hermione," Julia said, "I lost my parents, but there's still a chance to save yours. Even if there's a one in a thousand chance of finishing by the end of the school year, shouldn't we do it?"

Ridiculous. It was a long shot before, and now it was impossible.

"_The nerve of this girl, thinking she could just waltz in and 'help' with something like this,_" Hermione thought.

"You're not even taking Arithmancy, Julia," Hermione said, now with a hint of contempt creeping into her voice, "how are you going to help?"

"I was homeschooled," Julia said, "I've already studied Arithmancy through NEWT, and could probably take the exam tomorrow and score a least an E."

Hermione looked at Julia and narrowed her eyes, but then shook her head again.

"Even if we got the Arithmancy, there's still the reagents," Hermione said, "we wouldn't be able to test any of it."

"Maybe we could find them ourselves. We don't even know what they'd be until the Arithmancy is done, so one thing at a time," Julia replied, but then she perked up and snapped her fingers.

"Doesn't McGonagall have a Pensieve in her office?" she asked, "you could look at your own memories of what was on the blackboards before they were wiped clean!"

Ginny gave Julia a funny look, but Hermione sat up straight, the faintest spark of hope kindling in her chest, pushing back against the ache.

"You're right," Hermione said, "I'm sure I could persuade her to let me use it, to at least recover the notes and arithmancy on the boards."

She stood up and started walking to the door.

"Wait, I'm supposed to be on bedrest," she said, hand on the doorknob.

"Umm… I could go ask her for you?" Julia said, also standing, "try to get you an appointment?"

Hermione nodded, and the other girl was by her and out the door in a flash. Hermione looked back to Ginny, who had a thoughtful look on her face.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"Don't you think it odd that Julia knew McGonagall had a Pensieve?" Ginny asked, "considering she's a transfer student?"

"Maybe a bit," Hermione said, her mind still swimming with the possibility of salvaging at least some of her work, "then again it's not exactly a secret."

Ginny opened her trunk, rummaged around for a moment, and pulled out a ratty piece of parchment.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she said, tapping the map with her wand.

Ginny spread the map out on one of the desks as Hermione started pacing, wholly occupied with possibly recovering some or all of her research. It was amazing what a few days' rest had done. For the first time in months, her thoughts flowed clear and crisp, unlike the muddy sludge they had become, and she no longer felt like she was forcing herself to work through an impenetrable fog.

"Here she is, gone to McGonagall's office," Ginny said, "Hermione, come look, her name is all fuzzy."

Hermione leaned over the desk to look down at the map. Julia's name was indeed a bit indistinct, but still clearly legible. She looked around at some of the other names.

"Our names are fuzzy too," Hermione said, pointing out where Ginevra Weasley and Hermione Granger were slightly blurred, as if out of focus, "and so is Professor Winthrop's, and several other names here."

"The charms might be fading," Hermione continued, "it's a brilliant piece of work, but all four creators have been dead for months, and a significant portion of the castle and the wards were damaged or destroyed and reconstituted over the summer. I'm fairly certain the Map gets its information from the wards, so it only makes sense that it might be a little bit dodgy by now."

Ginny nodded and frowned.

They watched as Julia entered McGonagall's office, and then left, returning to Gryffindor Tower at a rather brisk pace.

Hermione took the time to read through some more of her get well cards. She smiled when she saw Harry's handwriting.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I heard from Ginny there was an accident in your potions lab, and you're in the infirmary from exhaustion. I hope everything is alright. Even if it's not, remember, it was never going to be smooth sailing in the first place. Don't give up! At least not until graduation. I know you'll look at what you've got and make a plan, probably with one of those colour coded schedules of yours. If there's anything Ron or I can do to help, please don't hesitate to ask._

_Love Always,_

_Harry_

Hermione smiled again. The truth was, she could really use a few hundred galleons right now. If she could fund the potions ingredients, she was pretty sure McGonagall would let her purchase them through the school. It wasn't going to happen, though. Aside from the sickening feeling she got just thinking about asking Harry to pay to try and fix her mistake, with the goblins holding their vaults ransom for the damage they'd caused, Harry didn't even have gold in the amounts she'd need. She'd have to find some other way, assuming she decided to continue her research.

Julia burst through the door, slightly out of breath from climbing so many flights of stairs.

"She said you could come tomorrow during lunch, assuming you rested until then," Julia said.

Hermione smiled. There was still a huge mountain to climb, but the situation wasn't utterly hopeless anymore.

"Hermione," Julia said, still breathing hard, "now that I know what you're doing, I want to help you."

Hermione looked at Julia questioningly.

"Why?" she asked.

"Umm… I know someone who lost some of her memories," Julia said slowly, "and I'm sure she would like them back."

Hermione was silent for a moment.

"Alright, assuming I can recover anything from my memories, you can come take a look at what I've done already, and then… we'll see, I suppose," Hermione said.

Julia nodded and sighed.

"Okay. Thank you. Umm, we have to get to transfiguration," Julia said, "I'll take good notes for you, so don't worry about that."

Hermione nodded, excitement bubbling up, but also the beginnings of fatigue starting to set in again. She'd just woken up, how could she still be tired?

"Alright, I think I'm going to take Pomfrey's advice for once and get some rest," Hermione said, stowing her wand in the cubby behind her bed.

Ginny and Julia waved and wished her speedy recovery as they departed for class, leaving Hermione to change and pull her curtains closed. Sleep found her quickly, and she slumbered straight through the night until the next morning, when hunger woke her before the sun rose. She took a scalding hot shower and slipped out of the dorm before the others were awake, stealing down to the Great Hall for an early breakfast before returning to the dorm and passing out again until lunchtime, when she returned to McGonagall's office for her appointment. The Pensieve already sat on the massive desk, and McGonagall reclined by the fireplace when Hermione entered, armed with a roll of blank parchment, a quill, and several bottles of ink.

"Miss Granger, how are you feeling?" the headmistress asked, knotting the yarn and placing the nearly completed afghan over the arm of the chair she sat in before standing up.

"Much better, Professor, thank you," Hermione said, "I've been sleeping a lot."

McGonagall nodded.

"Do you know how to use the Pensieve?" McGonagall asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Yes professor, I've used it before," she said.

"_Once,_" she thought.

"Very well," McGonagall said, "you have one hour, and may have this lunch hour each day for the rest of this week, so long as you continue to follow Madam Pomfrey's instructions."

Hermione nodded.

"Thank you Professor," she said.

"Good luck, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, before turning around and going back to crocheting. Hermione thought it a bit odd that McGonagall was weaving the blanket without magic, but perhaps she found it therapeutic or calming. She'd have to ask her another time, for now, she had only fifty-five minutes remaining to use the Pensieve.

Hermione stepped up to the large stone basin with its silvery, cloudy contents, and held her wand up to her temple, concentrating on the last time she'd written on the blackboard. Once the gossamer thread dropped into the bowl, Hermione plunged in afterwards. The memory was jerky, jumping around, and the sounds were muffled or delayed by a second or two. She knew fatigue and lack of sleep affected memory, but to see just how badly her mind had been hobbled by her relentless drive to spend every available second working on her project surprised her. Watching herself nearly fall asleep while standing and writing a few figures on the board, she shook her head. No wonder she'd caused an accident!

Hermione concentrated on what she could make out of the blackboards from the memory, then exited the Pensieve, wrote down everything she could, and pulled another memory, from a different day, a different experiment. Back and forth, she entered the Pensieve and transcribed the equations and charts onto the parchments, recreating the chalk memories in ink. When her hour was up, she charmed the parchments to preserve them, bound them up, and slipped them into her pouch. The next three days were much the same; spend about sixteen hours sleeping, and the rest of her time either eating in the Great Hall, reconstructing her charts and equations, or reviewing the notes Julia took for the classes they shared. After three days, she'd probably gotten as much as she was going to, with about two thirds of what was on the boards reconstructed, and the margins filled with her own notes. She'd even discovered a few mistakes she'd made in her tiredness, but on her last five trips, she hadn't seen anything new.

"Thank you Professor," Hermione said after wrapping up her notes for the last time, "umm, I was wondering, if I was able to come up with the galleons, would I be able to purchase ingredients through the school?"

McGonagall frowned at her.

"Under the condition they stay with Professor Slughorn until such time as you wish to use them," McGonagall replied, "and he shall be the one to dispense them to you. We cannot afford another accident like the one last week."

Hermione nodded, cheeks burning.

"Thank you Professor," she said, and returned to her dorm to take another nap.

Hermione awakened when it was dark outside to muffled shouts coming from the common room. She dressed and made her way downstairs to find what must have been the entire house crammed in, decked out in red and gold, including significant face paint, dyed hair, and nail polish. Someone had hung a banner from the ceiling with the Gryffindor lion emblazoned across it, and charmed it to race from one side to the other and flap smartly in a breeze that couldn't be felt. Of course, quidditch.

"Hermione!" a cheer went up when they realized she'd made an appearance. Someone in the crowd tossed a quaffle at her and she gamely tried to catch it, only bobbling it twice before clutching it to her chest. Cheers and applause followed, and she smiled despite herself.

Ginny waved her over to one of the tables, which was surrounded by the older students, and embraced her tightly.

"Glad to see you're up, we won, if you hadn't noticed," Ginny said, "720-10. The 10 was an own goal."

Hermione's eyebrows scrunched together. She only knew a little bit about quidditch, but even she knew that was an incredibly lopsided score.

"Wilkes took out their seeker, and then we just didn't catch the snitch until we felt we had enough of a lead," Ginny said.

"Congratulations Ginny," Hermione said.

Ginny grinned at her, wide and beaming.

"Come on Hermione, tonight's for celebrating," Ginny said to another cheer from the crowd, "let's hear it!"

"Yeah," Hermione said, putting a fist into the air.

The crowd groaned, and someone lifted her up onto the table, all but pushing her to her feet.

"_Okay, I guess I'm not getting out of this_," she thought.

This time she thrust both fists into the air.

"Gryffindor!" she yelled, to a raucous response from the crowd.

"_Oh no_," Hermione thought as she felt her chest tighten. Luckily the crowd had seemingly gotten enough, and she was helped down off the table. She felt her breath quicken as her gaze darted around at the press of bodies, drinks sloshing. Hermione pushed her way though, away from the centre of the room to find a quiet space near the edges. She spotted the Julia's auburn hair and cut towards her, dodging a crisp as it flew through the air. Julia leaned against the wall, nursing a glass of something orange and watching the crowd with something of a thoughtful frown on her face, but her features lit up when she saw Hermione. She backed into someone to make some space, and Hermione all but banged into the wall, holding onto it and taking a few deep breaths.

"Are you okay?"

She felt Julia's hand on her back.

"Yes," she replied, "it's just… the crowd, and the noise."

"Dorm?" Julia asked.

Hermione nodded, and she was grasped by the forearm. Hermione closed her eyes and let herself be led.

"Excuse me, one side, pardon, coming through," Julia said to shouts of protest as gryffindors were forcibly shunted to one side or the other, "Be glad the drink's all you lost, numbnuts."

Then they were on the steps, climbing out of the chaos, and into the dorm. Julia closed the door and cast a quick silencing spell while Hermione kicked off her shoes and sat cross-legged on her bed again. She deliberately slowed her breathing, calming herself down.

After a few moments she opened her eyes to see Julia looking down at her, observing. She cocked an eyebrow, a questioning glance.

"Meditation, it can help," Hermione said, slowly uncrossing her legs and moving to the edge of the bed.

Julia nodded, but didn't say anything.

Hermione took a deep breath.

"I think I've gotten as much as I can from the Pensieve, if you'd like to take a look?" she asked.

"_We'll see if there's anything you can actually add_," Hermione thought.

Julia smiled.

"Of course," she replied.

They moved the desks next to each other and set the parchments up across both of them, and placed a few _lumos_ charms for extra light. Although there were several blank spots and question marks, Hermione looked down at what remained with satisfaction. She was fairly confident she could reconstruct what was missing relatively quickly. The reagents were another story, but as long as she kept moving forward…

"So… this part here is the results of the experiments to determine whether the healing option or the rejuvenation option would be more likely to succeed," Hermione said, pointing to a series of arrays and equations.

Julia picked up a parchment and spent several minutes reading through it, biting her lip as she did so.

"If I'm reading this correctly, you were almost done with this bit," she said.

"Yes, there were only a few more combinations to test before… anyway, we should finish off the experiments to eliminate the healing option if we can," Hermione said, "then we can focus on the arithmancy for the second method. I have some gold, and most of the ingredients are relatively cheap, except for-"

"Acromantula venom," Julia said, pointing at another section of notes, "well, at least we know where to get that. But you still look a bit peakish. Tomorrow?"

Hermione swallowed. Going into the Forbidden Forest to extract acromantula venom wasn't exactly high on her list of things she wanted to do. Still, Julia had been able to more or less pick up on what she'd been doing relatively quickly…

"Tomorrow," she said.

The next day passed in a blur. Hermione slept in and spent most of the afternoon getting caught up on her essays, while Julia read through an advanced Arithmancy textbook, and Ginny tuned up and polished the Firebolt.

"Ginny, we're going into the Forest tonight," Hermione said abruptly. Julia nearly dropped the book while Ginny looked up from the floor in shock and confusion.

"Why?" Ginny asked, drawing out the word.

"We need acromantula venom," Hermione replied.

"It's for the project?" Ginny asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Alright, I'm coming with you," she said without pause, and went back to arranging bristles.

Julia looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment before burying herself in Arithmancy again.

That evening, well after curfew, three disillusioned young women snuck out of the castle using the second-floor window above the courtyard to drop down. Hermione'd shrunk a roast chicken from dinner, for use as a bartering tool, hopefully. They made their way across the stone bridge to the field near the forest, little puffs of breath and the waving of grass the only evidence of their passage.

"One thing I just realized, if we end up having to grow some of our ingredients, we'll be able to infuse the soil it grows in," Hermione whispered as they passed the greenhouses, "it might help when we're trying to get the potion right."

She didn't hear any response, but she assumed the other two were nodding. When they reached the edge of the Forest, Hermione let her disillusionment drop, and the other two followed suit.

"Okay, stay close, and be careful," Hermione said.

"Also, Hermione, we're not telling Harry or Ron about this," Ginny said.

"I thought that went without saying but yes, absolutely," Hermione said, "let's go."

She led the other two in a south easterly direction, towards where she knew the heart of the acromantula nest used to be. The moon had yet to rise, and the Forest was extremely dark at night despite most of the branches having already finished shedding their leaves. Every twig they stepped on sounded like a firecracker echoing around them. She could only hope some of the giant spiders had retreated there after the battle… some of them, not all of them. Actually no more than two would be perfect.

After nearly an hour of walking, she noticed broken webs up in the trees.

"We're getting close," she said, pointing them out.

"Why don't we set the forest on fire," Julia asked, "one of them is bound to run towards us and then we can kill it and take the venom. You know. Without being eaten alive."

"We're not setting the forest on fire, Julia," Hermione replied.

They walked a few more minutes as Julia grumbled about not being able to smoke the spiders out, and the webs grew thicker; they passed several broken and discarded cocoons on the ground, little else but bones remaining inside them. The sound of chittering reached her ears and Hermione stopped still and waited, the other two forming a triangle with her, so they had a wand pointed in each direction. Hermione glanced around, catching snippets of movement on the trees around them, but never actually seeing a spider, until one, about two feet in diameter, crawled around a large trunk and looked at them.

"Humanss," it said in a raspy voice, "why have you come into our nest?"

"We need some venom," Hermione said, enlarging the chicken well beyond its original size, to gargantuan proportions, "we would be willing to trade this meat for some."

The acromantula shifted slightly to the left, and then back to the right.

"And why should we do this, when we can easily kill you and take both you and your offering?" it asked.

"Because many of you would be slain-" Hermione said.

"_Protego!_" Julia yelled, and a massive acromantula bounced off the shield above them and thudded heavily onto the ground in front of Hermione. It's legs, each as thick as Hermione's thigh, all scrabbled for a moment as it flipped over from its back and hissed at them. The forest around them exploded with activity as dozens of giant spiders descended from the trees or launched themselves at them.

Spells flew and trees fell to the ground or had spider bodies smashed into them. Cutting curses took off legs and the night filled with the sound of shrieking acromantulas, crawling legs, snapping pincers, and shouted spells.

"I told you we should have burned the fucking forest," Julia shouted, "_Depulso!"_

Three spiders flew away from them, but for every one they defeated, it seemed two more took their place. Hermione was too busy casting spells and trying to think a way out of this mess to respond. A small (relatively speaking), foot-wide spider flew through the air and snuck past her defences to strike her in the shoulder, knocking her down to one knee.

"Hermione!" Ginny shouted, "_Incendio!"_

The hairs on the acromantula's body all ignited at once, and the thing shrieked as it perished, legs flailing wildly. Ginny levitated it and banished it towards another, larger acromantula, hitting it in the face and causing it to stumble about on eight legs, dazed.

Suddenly, there was a lull in the battle and the acromantulas hissed, and slowly retreated. Hermione's chest heaved as she caught her breath. She flexed her shoulder, noting it didn't seem to be seriously injured.

"Cover me," she said as she ran forward to one of the acromantulas they'd killed, hitting it with the red beam of a stunning spell, just in case. She pulled several vials from her pouch as she knelt down. The fires quickly died out, and she had trouble working the stopper due to the cold and darkness. She knew the venom was located in a sac above the fangs, and Hermione had to peel back the acromantula's mouth and cut her way through the roof of its palate to get at them. She reached into the warm recesses of the dead acromantula's head to squeeze the venom ducts and get the liquid flowing into the vial, but midway through the first squeeze, she was struck by how stupid the whole idea was. She really was the worst sort of person. She was trying to do the impossible, and literally risking the lives of her friends in the process. Her parents probably didn't even want to see her again anyway. The vial slipped from her fingers and fell to the forest floor.

"Oh shit," Ginny said, "_Expecto Patronum!_"

The brilliant stallion charged forth from the tip of Ginny's wand, and Hermione looked up to see its blue-white light driving away a pair of dementors that had almost reached them. Damn, she hadn't even noticed! Warmth and love filled her up, and took a deep breath, grabbed the fallen vial from the dirt, and got to work extracting the venom again.

"Hurry, Hermione," Ginny said, urging her on.

The two dementors hovered just outside the range of the patronus, circling around like caged tigers, probing for a way in, and Ginny moved a few feet away to drive them back a bit further. Hermione found the venom sac and squeezed hard, but only a drop or two came out; the sac must have been ruptured during the fight! She pulled her hand out, wet and dripping ichor, and looked around for another acromantula body. She spotted it, about twenty feet away, legs curled up in death. She ran over to it, Julia not far behind. Hermione used her wand cut her way into the acromantula's head and felt around for the sac. This time her squeeze was rewarded with a stream of dark viscous fluid spraying into the vial. She squeezed two more times before she felt despair rising again, and her fingers started to numb over from the cold. She refocused on her work, trusting Julia to cover her.

"Hermione! Watch out!" Ginny called.

Hermione froze as a whisper of dark cloth drifted over her shoulder out of the corner of her eye.

She turned slowly and a terrible sight greeted her, chilling her to the bone.

A dementor hovered not more than ten feet away, holding Julia upright from behind, its slimy arm grabbing her shoulder around her neck and dragging her backwards, away from the light of Ginny's stallion. A second dementor, the one that had all but ignored Hermione to make a beeline for Julia, approached her from the front.

"Father no, please… no," Julia said.

Hermione watched with wide eyes, somehow unable to move, as the dementor in front of Julia planted both of its hands on her shoulders. Julia stared straight into the pit of a second dementor's hood, but it was clear she was lost in whatever horrible memory they caused her to see. Her body convulsed as it started sucking the life from her, even as tears streamed down her face.

Hermione blinked, snapping out of the shock that had paralyzed her limbs. Leaving the vial unfilled, Hermione grabbed her wand, turned and stood tall.

"_Expecto patronum_," Hermione shouted, wand outstretched, and her brilliant otter shot out, blasting both dementors away from Julia, who crumpled to the ground. She thought of the love of her friends, of Harry, and Ginny, and Ron… but when she thought of Ron, she also accidentally reminded herself of her disappointment at his letter, and the light of her otter dimmed slightly.

"_No no no_," she thought, bringing her mind back to Harry, and Ginny, and even Julia who'd led her out of the common room earlier and the blue-white brilliance returned to full intensity. Julia had seemed to recover somewhat, at least she had her wand back and was getting to her feet. Her face twisted into a snarl and she looked ready to go on an absolute rampage against the dementors.

"Julia, get the venom," Hermione said as she walked towards the two dementors to push them further away.

Julia turned towards her and looked torn for a moment, then ran for the acromantula and the fallen vial.

"Oh fuck, this is gross," Julia said as she reached into acromantula's head and felt around for the venom sac.

It seemed like an hour to Hermione as she and Ginny held the four dementors back while Julia worked, but it was probably only a minute or two.

"We have enough, let's go," Julia said, her voice shaky, and pointing her wand at her hand, "_scourgify_. Also, let's never do that again."

Hermione walked forward, parting the dementors with her otter, then came Julia, stumbling along, followed by Ginny, taking up the rear. With the light of two patronuses, walking through the dark forest was much easier, and eventually they left the dementors behind. Julia pulled a broom out of a pouch and enlarged it.

"You shrank your broom?" Ginny asked.

"Ugh, whatever," Julia said with a wave of her hand.

"You're going to kill its performance, what if you have to play?" Ginny asked.

"Ginny, save it until we're out of here," Hermione said, "Julia, chocolate will help, we'll get some when we get back to Hogwarts."

Julia passed the vial of venom to Hermione then slumped over the shaft of the broom, and they walked and floated west, back towards the castle. When they reached the field, they disillusioned themselves again, and when they reached the courtyard, they took turns riding Julia's broom up to the second floor and levitating it back down to the ground.

"Bet you're glad I brought it now," Julia mumbled, a comment which Ginny ignored.

Julia shrank the broom again and the three of them snuck their way down to the dungeons, where Hermione tickled the pear on the tapestry with a bowl of fruit to open the door to the kitchens. The lights in the massive hall were dimmed, and only a few elves walked about, cleaning the floors or washing a few dishes. One of them noticed them and pointed.

"Students!" he squeaked.

Almost immediately, a half-dozen elves offering all sorts of midnight snacks surrounded them with plates or platters of sandwiches, cakes, and tarts.

"Actually, if you have some chocolate, we could really use that," Ginny said. Several platters of various chocolates and chocolate covered treats appeared before them, and they gratefully took the platters and gathered around end of one of the tables. The elves gave them a wide berth, even if they did watch them curiously from a distance. Julia all but collapsed into a chair at the head of the table and clutched her head.

"Ugh, I feel like I've been run over by a herd of nundus," she said.

Hermione grabbed one of the chocolates, an extra dark, unwrapped the end, and stuck it in Julia's hand.

"Eat that," she said, "it'll help."

Julia rested her head on the table as she did as ordered, working her jaw mechanically as she munched the rich dark chocolate.

"Why didn't you cast a patronus?" Ginny asked.

Julia wearily dragged herself into a slumped sitting position and took another bite, leaving a bit of chocolate staining her lower lip.

"Never quite got the hang of it, I suppose," she replied.

Hermione still felt foggy from the adventure in the forest, and she was a bit giddy at the thought of continuing the experiments with the vial now tucked into her pouch. She reached out and wiped Julia's lip with her thumb.

"_Wait,_ w_hy did I just do that?_" she thought, looking at the bit of melted chocolate on her thumb.

Apparently both Julia and Ginny were thinking the same thing, because Hermione looked up from her thumb to see them both staring at her.

"Umm. You had chocolate. On your lip," Hermione said. She even sounded weird to herself.

Ginny shook her head and looked back at Julia while Hermione resisted the inexplicable urge to lick the chocolate off her thumb, and wiped it clean on the table instead.

"You're one of the best in our class though, at Charms AND Defence, have you tried?" Ginny asked.

"'Course I've tried," Julia said, taking another bite, "it's a bloody useful spell, but I never even got the mist."

Hermione gave Ginny a questioning look but Ginny ignored her.

"There's a certain type of witch that can't cast a patronus, you know," Ginny said.

Julia grew very quiet at that.

"I'm not a Dark witch," she said, looking down at the table.

"Those dementors went straight for you," Ginny said, "and I know you snuck out the night before you were injured. What were you doing the night you snuck out? And how did you get injured, really? Why can't you cast a patronus? Julia, why can't you cast-"

Julia slammed a hand on the table.

"I don't have any memories that are happy enough, okay!" Julia shouted, glaring at Ginny, anger splayed across her face, but Hermione could also see pain and something else there as well.

"Not everyone's as lucky as you," Julia added quietly.

"I'm not-" Ginny said, but then she cut herself off. Perhaps she realized that she was at least somewhat lucky, all things considered.

"Lucky enough to have memories for a patronus," Julia mumbled.

"Alright, that's enough, both of you," Hermione said, shoving chocolate into Ginny's hand, "Ginny, eat."

The redhead took a bite from the chocolate bar and chewed it thoughtfully, looking at Julia, still suspicious but at least no longer spitting fire.

"_Honestly, we just survived four dementors and about a hundred acromantulas, and got the venom. We should be celebrating_," Hermione thought. At least she felt like celebrating; the cause was not hopeless after all.

"Sorry for calling you a Dark witch," Ginny said, only sounding slightly sorry, "but I still don't like that you're keeping secrets."

Julia quirked a smirk and sat up a bit straighter.

"I don't like that you're keeping secrets either, but I don't go badgering you about them," Julia said.

"I'm not-" Ginny started.

"How did Harry Potter survive the killing curse then?" Julia asked, leaning forward and planting her elbow on the table, and her chin on her hand.

"_What the hell?_" Hermione thought.

Ginny averted her eyes.

"That's not the same," Ginny replied, "not even close."

"Julia, there are some things about the war we can't talk about," Hermione said.

"I know, I was just making a point," Julia said, crossing her arms, "I know you know things, and I don't know them, but I never ever bring them up, do I? Maybe one day, when we're better friends... I'll tell you all about Julia White."

Julia started on her second bar of chocolate.

"Oh, umm, I forgot to thank you, Hermione, for saving my life," Julia added.

"_Technically she would have still been alive when they were done with her, but probably best not to mention that_," Hermione thought.

"Of course," Hermione replied, "you would have done the same, I'm sure. Tell you what, if my life's ever in danger, feel free to save it."

She smiled, trying to diffuse the tension that still lingered from the semi-argument between Julia and Ginny.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I reached into an acromantula's head today," Julia said, "seriously considering obliviating myself for that alone."

Ginny sighed.

"You did save us when that first one dropped from up above," she said, "I'm sorry about before, maybe a side effect from the dementors. I'm glad you were there."

Julia patted Ginny's hand.

"Does that mean you'll start me in the next match, Captain?" Julia asked.

Ginny snorted.

"Not with that broom you've shrunk and enlarged Merlin knowns how many times," she replied, "you're not going in until you get a replacement."

Hermione smiled, as Julia pouted. It seemed the drama was over, for now. They talked about the fight for a few more minutes before sneaking back up to the Tower. Julia, still not fully recovered from the dementor attack, went straight to bed, and Ginny entered the bathroom while Hermione brushed her teeth.

"_Muffliato_," Ginny said.

"I have a secret," she said.

"What?" Hermione asked through toothpaste foam.

"I have a secret I haven't told you, and I want to tell you," Ginny said, "you know, after tonight's conversation, I realized I had a secret I hadn't told you."

Hermione rinsed and looked at Ginny, already in her purple nightgown, the material in the front wrinkled from being twisted, probably just before Ginny came into the bathroom.

"Okay," Hermione said.

"I can still hear his voice, in my head, sometimes," Ginny said.

"Whose voice?" Hermione asked as she felt a chill go up the back of her neck. She suspected she already knew the answer to her question.

"You know whose voice," Ginny said deliberately, "and you know what that little voice says? Julia White is someone you should ally with. She would be a great asset. I've never got that feeling from it about anyone before. That's what's got me worried."

Hermione put the floss back on its stand. This conversation just became much more important than dental hygiene.

"Let me get this straight," Hermione said, closing her eyes and bringing two fingers to each temple, then opening her eyes, "you're hearing Tom Riddle Junior's voice in your head, and you're worried about Julia White?"

Ginny shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Well, it's not so much his voice as I get a strong sense of what he would say about a particular person or thing, because… I guess, he was in there for so long," Ginny replied, pointing to her forehead.

Hermione stared at her, flabbergasted.

"Don't worry, Harry gets it too," Ginny said.

"Ginny, that… doesn't help me worry any less," Hermione said, "are you sure you're okay?"

Ginny nodded.

"It's nothing like it was before, you know, during first year," Ginny said, "and its mostly just feelings, or an idea of what he would say, or think. I'm still me. You haven't noticed anything odd, have you?"

Hermione thought back. Truth be told, she hadn't had much contact with Ginny since she'd left for Australia. She felt a pang of guilt shoot through her chest. Was this the start of what McGonagall had warned her about? Burning her life away?

"How long has it been like this?" she asked.

"Since Egypt," Ginny said, "Harry and I talk about it when we need to, he's really the only one who understands, who _can_ understand."

Hermione nodded.

"Ginny, I don't think Julia is a bad person. She offered to tutor Michaels, and you mentioned she helped that first-year in the courtyard," Hermione said, "Plus, you weren't close enough to hear her when she was attacked."

Hermione thought back to Julia reliving a memory where she begged her father not to do something. She contemplated telling Ginny what she suspected it was a memory of but decided against it; no need to speculate on something like that.

"I don't exactly think her home life was all sunshine and roses before her parents died," Hermione said.

Ginny nodded slowly.

"Okay, I just was thinking about secrets and I don't want there to be any between us, you know," she said, "and I wanted you to know _why_ I was concerned."

Hermione nodded and bit her lower lip, then pulled Ginny into a hug, the sensation of the redhead's breasts pressed against hers through the thin nightgown fabric somehow much more intimate than she was used to or intended, but it was too late to pull back and not be awkward.

"Thank you Ginny, and I'll be careful," Hermione said, taking a half-step back, "and you let me know if anything odd starts happening."

Ginny nodded, then exited the bathroom back into the dorm. By the time she finished washing up, the curtains of the other two beds were closed, and Hermione felt the excitement of the evening and the chocolate wearing off. Before she turned in, she felt inside the pouch for the vial. She had enough gold for the other ingredients she needed to finish the first set of experiments. She'd be able to get back to the lab tomorrow. Harry was right. The explosion had been a setback, but she had to keep trying, at least until the end of the school year.

The next morning, she awoke to Ginny shaking her by the shoulder.

"It's Hogsmeade again today," Ginny said quietly, "Julia's asked me to go but I'd really feel better if you were there too."

Hermione blinked a few times and sat up, then nodded to Ginny. She still felt the after-effects of the dementors, and since today was the last day of her mandated exile from the lab, she figured she might as well enjoy it.

The three girls made their way from the castle to the small wizarding village, the overcast autumn sky dark and threatening snow, though it was not quite cold enough yet. Julia was the bleariest eyed of them, likely due to being the one most affected by the dementors. They made their way to the Three Broomsticks, picked a booth in the back, and ordered hot chocolates and miniature sandwiches for brunch.

"You really need to get a better broom," Ginny said, "there's going to be scouts coming later this year and if you have to start, you'll have to at least be able to somewhat keep up with me if we're going to be on the same chaser line."

"You have a _Firebolt_," Julia said.

"I said _somewhat_ keep up with me," Ginny said, "we need to work something out."

She took a bite and chewed thoughtfully, and Julia took advantage of the lull in conversation to pull out some parchment and spread it out on the table next to their food.

"So, I couldn't sleep much last night, and rather than lie there awake, I broke down the potions ingredients we're most likely to need," she said to Hermione, "these are the ones that are relatively cheap, these we can grow, and these we can probably harvest from the Forest, and these are rare or foreign and we have to buy. I don't have a lot of galleons right now but I think we can…"

Julia stopped as Hermione and Ginny both stared at her.

"Julia…. I appreciate all this, but you don't have to…" Hermione said.

"I can help, you," Julia said, looking back and forth between the two of them, "I know I can help you. Someone close to me is missing memories, so… it's important to me."

"Who's memories?" Ginny asked.

Julia looked to Ginny and ran her tongue over her lip, then glanced around before leaning forward.

"Okay… it's my memories," she whispered, "I have a lot of blank spots, and I'd really like to know what happened."

"Wait, how much?" Ginny asked, a note of concern in her voice. Hermione suspected it was because of the redhead's own experience with missing time.

"Is it still happening?" Ginny asked.

Julia looked around again and shrugged.

"Years," she replied, "I'm missing whole years, and I don't know what happened. But no, I don't have any blank spots since spring."

Ginny leaned back, at a loss for words.

"Look," Julia said, addressing Hermione again, "if you don't let me help, I'm going to research it on my own, but we'd be better off working together. I don't even care about the fame and fortune if we succeed. You can have it all-"

"Absolutely not," Hermione said, interrupting, "if we work together and actually manage to find a cure, there'll be plenty to go around. We'll split it."

Julia broke into a broad smile.

"Partners then?" she asked, holding a hand out.

Hermione frowned, but at this point, what could it hurt?

"Partners," Hermione said, shaking Julia's hand, warm in her palm.

Julia's lists were a good start, and they started filling in some more right there in the Three Broomsticks. When Neville came in, they waved him over.

"Hiya Hermione, Ginny, Julia," he said, sliding into the booth, "Hermione, you're looking better."

"Thanks Neville," Hermione said, picking up one of the lists, "quick question, do you think we could grow some of these in the greenhouses?"

Neville picked up the list and studied it, furrowing his brow.

"Most of them we should be able to," Neville said, "why?"

"That project I mentioned to you before, remember?" Hermione asked.

"Oh right," Neville said, "err, to be honest, since there's fewer students this year, we have empty space in the greenhouses, so yeah. If we've got the seeds, we can grow most of the reagents on that list. I'm sure Professor Sprout will be fine with it."

Hermione nodded and smiled.

"Okay, thank you," she said, "would you like a drink?"

Neville shook his head.

"No thanks, I'm actually meeting someone," he said, "but I will take a sandwich, thanks."

He waved at them as he left to find his own booth. They spent the next several hours filling out the lists, trying to figure out where they could get what ingredients, and how they could best spend what little money Hermione had accumulated from her royalties.

"All of this is just speculation at this point," Julia said, "let's work out the Arithmancy first so we know what we need."

"No," Hermione said, pointing at several highlighted rows, "these are going to take time to grow, we need to get started on the ones we're most likely to use right away, so they're available in the spring, before we lose access to the greenhouses and potions lab."

Julia agreed to that, and eventually they settled on a plan for Hermione to use her galleons to buy the more common ingredients they couldn't find or grow on their own, or harvest from the forest. As dangerous as the forest was, they would be able to find a number of rare ingredients there, from unicorn's blood or hair, or horns, to acromantula fangs, blood, venom, and silk. Julia mentioned there might be a leprechaun or two in there, and there were also thestrals, giants, hags, and will o' wisps, and that didn't count all the magical flora growing in the shadow of Hogwarts.

When they returned to the castle near sunset, Ginny had an essay to complete, so she begged off to finish her homework. Hermione and Julia decided to check the lab and clean it up if need be. When Hermione and Julia reached the dungeons, they found the lab door remained open, but the water had been vanished off the floor. Some of the ruined ingredients still lay next to the overturned cauldrons on the floor, which was scorched in places from the burning tornadoes. Standing in the middle of the room, lit by a bright _lumos,_ was Professor Winthrop, bent over one of the blackboards that hadn't been fully erased.

"Professor?" Hermione said.

He stood up and looked to the door, the light casting a shadow across his face from his horn rimmed glasses.

"Ah, Miss Granger, Miss White," he said, "how are you feeling, Miss Granger?"

"Better sir, thank you for asking," Hermione replied.

"Terrible, this accident," Winthrop said, "this Arithmancy is interesting, what little remains, that is. Might I ask what you were working on?"

"Err, trying to find a cure for obliviation, sir," Hermione said.

"Using a charm and a potion," she added when she saw him about to protest.

"Hmm, fascinating," he said, "very fascinating. Would it be alright if I stopped in from time to time to see how you're doing?"

Hermione wondered if McGonagall hadn't asked Winthrop to keep tabs on her. Well, it wasn't like she could decline.

"Of course not," Hermione replied.

Winthrop nodded.

"Excellent," he said, "I trust you'll be taking better care of yourself going forward. I can't have my star student missing all my lectures. Your presence is such a boon to my classes, Miss Granger. I look forward to your return."

Hermione smiled, but she inhaled as he moved past her, smelling something familiar. Dittany.

"Sir, are you alright?" she asked.

"Hmm?" he asked.

"Were you injured? I can smell essence of dittany," Hermione said. Julia quirked an eyebrow at that.

"Oh, I'm fine, just got a little bit too adventurous this weekend with a special someone," he said with a wink, "unfortunately, the topic is not exactly appropriate to discuss with students."

He rotated his shoulder.

Julia rolled her eyes while Hermione refused to acknowledge the innuendo.

"I hope you feel better soon, Professor," Hermione said.

"Thank you, Miss Granger, be sure to get enough rest going forward," he said, then departed the lab.

"Creep," Julia muttered, and Hermione couldn't help but agree with her. Despite his brilliance and way with words, Professor Winthrop had some odd quirks about him, one of which was openly acknowledging to his students he had an active love life.

Hermione and Julia set about fixing the magical lights and cleaning up the floor and what remained of the storeroom. The cauldrons could be salvaged, but most of the ingredients were contaminated. The stone floor had been eaten away in some places, but that was easily patched with the rubble from the destroyed wall. As she approached the wards for the tent, something jumped out of the dark back corner of the room and quickly resolved into a familiar shape of a middle-aged woman with soft brown curls, wearing a green cardigan and jeans. Her mother.

"Hermione, we love our life now, it's so much easier without you," she said, "could you take the memories away again?"

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, and she pointed her wand at the boggart.

"_Riddikulus,_" she said, but the spell wasn't strong enough and the boggart jumped past her to Julia, to take the shape of a large man, faceless, wearing plum-coloured wizengamot robes, standing behind a large wooden podium and wielding a gavel.

"I sentence you to life in Azkaban prison, to descend into madness," the judge said, then slammed the gavel with a resounding echo.

"_Riddikulus,_" Julia said, and the shapeshifter flew back to Hermione, this time assuming Ron's form, right down to the placement of his freckles.

"I'm sorry Hermione, I just don't love you anymore," he said, running his hands through his bright red hair.

"_Riddikulus_," Hermione said again.

"_Incendio,_" Julia said, lighting it on fire as it moved towards her again.

It screamed and writhed in flames, then flew out the door to harass someone else, trailing sparks in its wake.

"Sorry, I honestly don't have time to waste on a boggart, and neither of us were laughing," she said, "we would have been here all night."

Hermione nodded, still slightly shaken.

"Was that your mother?" Julia asked.

Hermione nodded again.

"Just a boggart, Hermione," Julia said.

"I know that, logically," Hermione replied. She didn't feel like it was just a boggart though.

"So… going mad, in prison?" Hermione asked.

"Madness runs in my family, I suppose. And maybe those dementors did a number on me," Julia said, with a shudder, "but I'm sane so far so…"

"I don't know, you did run into the Forbidden Forest last night," Hermione said with a smirk, "arguably not the behaviour of a sane witch."

Julia started snickering, and then threw her head back in a full-throated laugh, contagious enough that Hermione couldn't help but join in until her stomach hurt. When they quieted down some minutes later, Hermione wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around the mostly cleaned up lab. They still had a lot of Arithmancy to get through, but now she had a partner, someone who was just as invested in success as she was, and someone who would help keep her from overexerting herself again. She nodded and smiled; she didn't feel so alone anymore.


	11. Chapter 11

Warning: nudity, sex, drug abuse, alcohol abuse

Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Chapter 11

Draco grasped the cold metal ring and immediately felt the familiar tug on his navel, pulling him almost instantly through hundreds of miles as though he were passing backwards through a straw. The icy cold sea spray assaulted him as he landed and took a step to keep his balance. He turned away from the barren stone wall whose only feature was a large dull metal ring and walked across the small stone platform, the only spot on Azkaban island portkeys or apparition would function. The stone platform narrowed into a walkway stretching off into sea spray and the seemingly everpresent gloom surrounding the cursed island. A distinct lack of guardrails made him extra careful about walking down the exact centre of the narrow stone path. Waves crashed on either side, tossing salt water high into the air and onto the pathway. The chill North Sea wind whipped at his robes, threatening to knock him off and to the rocks or sea below. It was only about a hundred meters to the guardhouse at the end of the walkway, but it wasn't even visible until he was about halfway there. The imposing monolithic prison loomed out of the fog, the same as it always was, shrouded in dark clouds. He approached the small guardhouse at the end of the walkway and knocked on the door. A bald and slightly overweight middle-aged wizard wearing Auror robes opened the door, revealing a well-lit interior.

"Draco Malfoy, to see Lucius Malfoy," Draco said.

The Auror stepped back into the guardhouse. Within the cramped interior, only two windows offered external views, one facing the prison, and one facing the stone walkway. A simple table and four chairs sat in the centre of the room, and three desks lined the walls. Against the fourth wall sat a lone, squat, metal filing cabinet. A third door, slightly ajar, led to what Draco could barely make out as a loo. The wind penetrated through a crack somewhere in the guardhouse, creating an unsettling whistling sound. A second Auror, with slicked black hair, perhaps in his mid-twenties, aimed a wand at him from behind the table in the centre of the room. The bald Auror pulled a file from one of the desk drawers and flipped through it, then nodded.

"Have you done this before?" the bald Auror asked.

Draco shook his head.

"Do you have a wand? If so, you'll need to check it, then you'll be searched," the Auror said, "Jenkins will accompany you into the prison."

"Captain, I've escorted the last two," Jenkins said.

"When you're the OIC, you can decide who goes," the captain said, looking over his shoulder.

He turned back to Draco.

"Wand?" he asked.

Draco shook his head.

"I came through the Ministry, submitted my wand at reception," he said.

The bald Auror nodded.

"Hold your arms out to the side," the captain said.

He muttered a detection spell and waved his wand over Draco, then stowed it and frisked him manually, ensuring he had nothing concealed beneath his robes. He stopped at Draco's left arm, then jerked up the sleeve of the robe to expose the faded Dark Mark. He sneered in disgust at it and shook his head, releasing Draco's arm. Malfoy immediately jerked his arm back and pulled his sleeve down, concealing the snake and skull tattoo.

"Had to see for myself," the captain said, staring into Draco's eyes intensely. Draco kept his thoughts compartmentalized like he'd been taught, and he didn't detect any intrusion.

"Jenkins, he's all yours," the captain said, nudging Draco towards the door facing the prison.

Jenkins walked around from behind the table and stood behind Draco, wand pointed at his back.

"Stay in front of me," Jenkins said, "don't make any sudden moves, I'll direct you to Lucius Malfoy's cell."

Draco led the way up the steep incline to the massive metal prison itself and through a metal door which opened soundlessly on its own as they approached. He entered into the gigantic triangle shaped building and stared at the long hallway in front of him. A doorway at the end opened into what appeared to be a hollow centre of the building. Several intersections crisscrossed the hallway, and the metal itself seemed to glow a dim green, creating just enough light to see by.

"Take the first left," Jenkins said, "then it's up to the top."

Draco followed the instructions and passed a few more intersections before coming to a stairwell at one of the corners of the prison. Draco started climbing, and before long his legs burned and his breath became ragged and they stopped for a break.

"Do you regret it?" Jenkins asked, wand still casually aimed at Draco. Draco was struck by the Auror's youth; he couldn't have been more than six or seven years older.

"Regret what?" Draco asked.

"Everything, becoming a Death Eater, killing Dumbledore," Jenkins asked.

"I didn't kill him, I only disarmed him," Draco said, looking away, "and he was half-dead already anyway."

A moment passed.

"So do you?" Jenkins asked.

"_I did not smoke nearly enough for this conversation_," Draco thought.

"What's it to you?" Draco asked.

"Just wondering what went through your head, what would make you… anyone, do something like that," Jenkins asked.

"You think I had a choice? Are you mad?" Draco asked, "the Dark Lord was living in my house, he would've tortured and killed my mother and made me watch if I refused. And then he would have done the same thing to me, maybe fed us to his pet snake afterwards."

He shuddered, but Jenkins looked sceptical.

"You never thought about running away?" he asked.

Draco shook his head and kept climbing. He didn't understand. None of them did. Eventually the temperature started dropping, and Jenkins made a complicated wand movement.

"_Expecto Patronum,_" he said.

A small silvery bird, Draco thought it might be a swallow, flew from the tip of his wand and Draco felt the cold recede.

"Not far now," Jenkins said.

The swallow stayed near them, driving away the cold and despair of the dementors as they climbed. The stairwell deposited them at the start of another long hallway lit with the same dim green glowing light as the rest of the prison.

"Go to the end, then turn left," Jenkins said.

Draco walked the hallway towards the centre of the building and the open doorway at the end, only to find a sheer five hundred-foot drop to the frothing sea below. Echoes of crashing waves mingled with each other and the wind, creating a constant cacophony reminiscent of a distant and threatening thunderstorm. He looked up to see the dark wispy cloaks of at least two dozen dementors circling about, their black cloaks fluttering against grey clouds. Draco took a step back from the edge and turned left, following the inner hallway. Every now and then they passed a metal door on their left, cell blocks, he supposed, and open doorways leading to the abyss of the central hole in the building on their right. Far ahead, a lone dementor drifted towards them, only to duck out of one of the doorways to join his brothers in the air above and around the prison as the glowing swallow approached. The cold on the top floor was perpetual and the open gaps in the inner wall invited the wind to blow freely, mussing Draco's hair.

"Here," Jenkins said, pointing to a heavy metal door on their left which looked the same as all the other doors.

Draco lifted the latch with a loud clank and swung the door open on soundless hinges. A row of cells on either side of the hallway greeted him. A ditch ran down the centre of the hall, and trickle of water collected in it before running into a small drain at his feet. Each of the cells had bars seemingly transfigured into the ceiling and floor; there were no doors.

"There, third cell on the left," Jenkins said.

The Auror waited by the entrance, his patronus swallow patrolling left and right to ensure the dementors stayed away. Draco took a few steps inside the cell block, and suddenly was seized by the fear Jenkins would slam the door shut and trap him inside, but the Auror merely stood by, occasionally glancing at him.

Draco passed by the first two cells; he couldn't really tell who was beneath the pile of rags in one of them, but a bony foot stuck out, the thick yellowed toenails disgustingly long.

"Traitor," a voice from behind him said.

Draco turned to see the pale, twisted face of Antonin Dolohov, leering at him from behind the bars of his cage. The Death Eater's first stint in Azkaban had already destroyed his body once. Now, not much was left of him except bones and age spot covered skin, covered up in a grey Azkaban jumpsuit already fraying at the cuffs.

"Come a few steps closer, and I'll show you what a real Death Eater can do, what we do to traitors," Dolohov said, smiling and revealing his rotted teeth.

"You're not making a very convincing offer," Draco replied, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

"What'd you do to stay out, eh?" Dolohov said, "oh, it's going to be a treat to see what the Dark Lord does to you when he returns again."

"_Silencio,_" Jenkins said from the hallway, effectively ending the conversation. He turned back to watch the hallway.

Draco heard some rustling from the next cell over.

"Draco?" his father asked, "is that you?"

Draco walked a few more steps while Dolohov soundlessly railed behind him. His father sat a few feet back in his cell, on the floor, as if apprehensive about approaching the bars. The cell itself was barren; a privy and a sink sat against the back wall, and a platform attached to the wall covered in a few mouldy linens served as a bed, and that was it. The cell was barely large enough to lie down in, much less pace or do anything else. His father's once lustrous golden mane had thinned nearly to the point of baldness, and wispy strands of grey and yellow hung about his shoulders. His skin peeled and flaked in places, an angry red and brown patch of hives clearly visible on his neck, scabbed over where he'd torn his own flesh scratching at it. Lucius' cheeks were sunken, and the prison garb hung off his now dangerously thin frame. Worst of all were his eyes, the steely grey that Draco had spent nearly the entirety of his life attempting to find some amount of acknowledgement or praise from had turned leaden, dull, bereft of hope or purpose.

"Draco, why have you come here?" Lucius asked. His voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, and Draco had trouble hearing him over the whistling wind and crashing waves.

"Happy birthday, Father," Draco said.

"Has it been so long already?" Lucius asked after a long pause, "how… how have you been keeping, how is your mother?"

"Mother is… coping," Draco said, deciding not to mention the near month-long bender she was on, "she's been given house arrest, not sure if they told you."

Lucius nodded.

"They may have, I'm… I'm not sure," Lucius said, "the dementors, they feed on us, suck away our memories."

The old man's limbs started trembling, perhaps at the thought of the Dark creatures' return once Draco departed.

"And you, Draco?" Lucius asked.

"I'm serving probation, in a muggle orphanage," Draco replied, and Lucius' lips turned up in a sneer.

"Animals," Lucius said, and Draco wasn't sure whether he was referring to the wizengamot responsible for his sentencing, or the muggles. Perhaps both.

"What of your prospects?" Lucius asked.

"Prospects for what… _marriage_?" Draco replied, "the Malfoy name is ruined. The ministry's confiscated almost everything, including all our properties in Britain except the manor. Only the holdings in France and Switzerland are left, and they're taxing those. There are no prospects. We're pariahs; I can't even get served at a restaurant."

"Draco, listen to me," Lucius said, moving forward and grabbing the bars with his bony fingers, "you're the Lord of House Malfoy now, you have to rebuild, look abroad if you must, find a woman of good breeding-"

"Have you not heard a single word I've said?" Draco interrupted, "we have no social standing, and no gold. There is no pureblooded woman on the planet who would consider a match, because you threw our lot in with a madman who feeds people to snakes."

Lucius looked hurt by this, as if the magnitude of his missteps leading to their fall from power pressed down entirely on his shoulders in that one moment.

Jenkins rapped twice against the door.

"Time's up," he said.

"Draco, the line of Malfoy cannot end with you," Lucius said, quietly, "at least promise me you'll try."

Draco looked down at the glowing metal beneath his feet.

"I will try, Father," he said, "mother sends her love, and her hope that she'll see you again one day."

"There is no hope, not here," Lucius said, then he lay back on the floor of his cell, and Draco assumed the conversation was over.

Before leaving, Draco took a few steps deeper into the block and noted that there was indeed an empty cell to the right his father's. He turned and passed by Lucius, still lying on his back in the cell, and Dolohov, still silently cursing at him from behind his bars, and moved quickly to get out of the prison as soon as possible. Even with the light of Jenkins' patronus, Draco felt the cold bleakness of Azkaban seeping into his bones despite being at the top levels for less than half an hour.

"_How could anyone survive in here for a year, much less a decade_?" Draco thought. His aunt Bellatrix and cousin Sirius had both survived over ten years inside, as had several other Death Eaters, but after seeing his father, Draco didn't think he would last nearly as long.

The walk down through the rest of the prison was silent except for their footsteps. Jenkins doused his patronus part of the way down the steps, and he had to remind Draco where to turn to reach the exit. Back in the guardhouse, Draco itched to get away as soon as possible, but it seemed the overweight Auror was taking his sweet time writing in the logbook. Draco was out the door as soon as the book closed, and then he was striding away across the narrow, seawater-soaked walkway, eyes fixed firmly on locating the platform at the end.

He grabbed the iron ring set in the stone wall at the end of the platform, and it was a moment before he felt the tug on his navel, depositing him back to the Ministry of Magic in the dedicated room for travel to and from Azkaban. He wrote his name in the logbook and passed it to a clerk, who read through it and opened the door leading to the lifts. Draco struggled to maintain his poise and dignity as he walked past the DMLE. When he reached the Atrium, he wanted nothing more than to break into a sprint for reception, but a lifetime of training in decorum and keeping up appearances enabled him to walk calmly, and with perfect posture. He retrieved his wand and turned on his heel for the fireplaces.

"Malfoy Manor," he said, tossing in a handful of powder.

Draco coughed on soot as he landed, something he hadn't done in years. He took a few steadying breaths, then strode up the grand staircase to the second-floor balcony and looked over the forested grounds as he soaked in the autumn sunlight. Almost no green remained; autumn was in full display in hues of gold, red, and orange. He closed his eyes and let the wind blow through his hair and over his skin. The entire cursed island was like something out of a nightmare. No wonder the Aurors were always so touchy these days, having been assigned to patrol the lower levels after the war. Draco pulled out a joint from his robes, lit it with a wordless spell from his wand, and took a deep drag. He'd only just started to feel the tenseness leave his back and shoulders when he heard the door open from behind him, and inwardly grimaced.

His mother wordlessly walked up next to him and leaned on the balcony railing, a bottle of sherry in one hand.

"How is he?" she asked quietly.

Draco looked down at a green and blue peacock strutting through the garden.

"Alive," Draco replied, "but not in good health."

Narcissa nodded.

"I don't want to go back," Draco said.

Narcissa took a deep breath.

"I can't go, you're the only other who would visit him," Narcissa said.

"Mother, I can't," Draco said, shaking his head, "I can't go back there, I don't want to see him like that."

He took another desperate drag from the joint, but it wasn't nearly enough to dull the terror rising in his chest at that moment, so he grabbed her bottle and took a several large gulps.

"Okay, okay," Narcissa said, easing the bottle down, "we'll talk about that later. Did he say anything else?"

Draco almost snorted.

"He wants me to get married," Draco said, "good breeding, he said, and he wants me to rebuild our standing."

Narcissa stood still for a moment, then placed her hand on Draco's shoulder.

"Draco, he's your father and the head of the House. And you're the son of a Malfoy and a Black, I believe in you," she said.

"Well I don't," Draco said, shrugging off her hand, "all my life all I wanted to do was follow in Father's footsteps, but look where that got him, tossed in Azkaban, twice. You, house arrest and drinking yourself into oblivion, our name destroyed, the fortunes and heirlooms passed down to us for centuries confiscated, first by the Dark Lord, then by the bloody fools who took power after him. And me, stuck in muggle purgatory; Merlin knows how much more I can take of _that_."

The truth he'd come to realize though, that he only told to himself and kept buried deep, was he didn't even think the muggles were that bad anymore. They were still inferior certainly, but they weren't the magic stealing monsters they'd been made out to be, and even he had to admit they'd done reasonably well for themselves without magic. The weed on its own was a gift from Morganna herself. He didn't dare voice this opinion aloud though, especially not to his mother.

Narcissa shivered in the breeze and drew her silk robe tighter about herself.

"Mother, go back inside before you fall ill," Draco said, "honestly, you couldn't put on shoes, or at least a warming charm before coming out here?"

Narcissa leaned towards Draco with a half-hearted sneer on her face.

"Maybe I like to remind myself I'm still alive," she said, grabbing the bottle again and turning to walk back into the manor.

Draco stayed on the balcony and continued smoking, refusing to allow what remained of his tenuous hold on his temper to be completely destroyed by his mother. He spotted an owl flying towards him over the trees, and when it flapped to a stop and alighted on the balcony banister, he recognized Theo's mottled brown and black eagle-owl. Draco unwrapped the letter.

_Draco,_

_Daphne is in town, drinks tonight, my place._

_Theo_

Draco opened the balcony doors, summoned a quill to respond in the affirmative, then rolled up the note and reattached it. The well-trained owl fluffed its feathers as it stuck out its leg.

"Alright, off you go," he said.

Draco finished the joint and vanished the remains, then followed Narcissa back inside, though she was nowhere to be seen. He walked to his room, changed clothes, apparated to Diagon, then set off into muggle London through the Leaky. Draco walked the now familiar path to Darren's apartment and pressed the buzzer for the door.

"Who is it?" Mary's voice answered after a moment.

"It's Drake, want to head out?" Draco replied.

"Sure, I'll be down in a minute," Mary said.

Draco leaned against the stone banister flanking the steps while he waited. The door opened a few minutes later and Mary exited wearing jeans and a red jumper. She practically skipped down the steps and landed on the sidewalk with a smirk.

"Where should we go today?" she asked.

"I was thinking somewhere outside," Draco said, "seeing as we get exactly one bloody day of sunshine a month."

Mary nodded.

"I know a good place," she said, leading him down the street.

"How's it been, now you're done with the orphanage?" Draco asked.

"It's been good. If I want to get up to eat in the middle of the night, I can. If I want to go to the cinema, I can," she said, "finding a job has been tough, but I'm not too worried about that just yet."

Draco nodded.

"How have you been?" Mary asked.

"Shite, but I don't really want to bore you with all that," Draco replied, "let's play while we walk. Tell me how an electric light works?"

"I told you already, the electricity passes through the bulb and makes it glow," Mary said.

"I know, but _how_?" Draco asked, "can anyone do it or can only a special mu… person, get it to work?"

Mary smiled and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Honestly Drake, you ask the strangest questions," she said, "you just need the right material, one that glows when you run electricity through it. Carbon something, I forget. My turn. How many bedrooms does your house have?"

"Nineteen," Draco replied.

Mary stopped walking for a moment and Draco turned to see her mouth slightly open.

"Is it larger than the orphanage?" she asked.

Draco thought for a moment.

"That's another question, but yeah," he said.

"Damn," Mary said, and she kept walking.

They strolled through the streets of London for a time until they arrived at a park with manicured green grass, and areas of thick forest with leaves turned all brown, red, and yellow, and orange. Mary led them over to a set of stone steps where they could sit and watch people similarly out enjoying the day. A family threw a red frisbee around the grass, and a few people flew kites or walked dogs, or simply jogged around the park. Draco reclined on the steps and watched the muggles enjoy their lives. They looked happy, uncomplicated. Disdain for his father simmered in his gut. It was the same old story. Expand the family influence, find someone suitable to produce an heir. For a time, it had been the younger Greengrass. After the battle they'd, unsurprisingly, broken off the betrothal. She had been pretty, too. He needed something to take his mind off his shitty life.

"My question then," Draco said, "how does a car motor work?"

Mary looked at him and laughed out loud.

"Drake Malfoy, how is it possible you've got a driver's license but you don't know how a car works?" she asked.

"I know how a car works," Draco said defensively, "I'm just a bit fuzzy on the specifics, like how does the motor make the wheels go?"

Mary frowned.

"You know, now that I think of it, I know the petrol goes into the motor, and it burns it up somehow, and that makes it go, but I don't know exactly how it works," she said, "maybe you can ask Darren, he loves cars. Or maybe I'll ask him while you're in the room and you can listen in."

She gave him a sly smirk.

"My turn, who are your other friends?" she asked.

"What other friends?" Draco replied.

"The people you grew up with, your friends who aren't Darren and Alan and me," she said.

"I don't really talk to them much anymore," Draco said.

"They all went to that boarding school?" Mary asked.

Draco nodded.

"So they're rich like you too?" she asked.

"I'm not rich," Draco replied.

"Drake, you live in a bloody mansion," Mary said.

"I know, but… we've had some problems lately," Draco said, running a hand through his hair, "might lose it all, actually."

Merlin's pants, he wanted to _stop_ thinking about his Wizarding Britain problems.

Mary nodded.

"You know I'm not friends with you just because you've got money, right?" she said.

"That's another question," Draco said, "on top of the three you already asked me. I think you owe me now."

They traded questions like that, or comments on the people in the park. Draco thought it was a better way to pass his day off than sitting at home with his mother, and he finally started feeling relaxed until Mary brushed a strand of hair from his face and he froze.

"_Then again, it's been months now and I haven't picked up any diseases, unless I count that cold a few weeks ago_," Draco thought.

He gave it a mental shrug and tried to let the moment pass, but decided to smoke up instead. As he pulled the joint out of his pocket and lit it, Mary looked at him like he'd grown another head.

"Drake, what are you doing?" she asked, looking around, "you can't smoke that in public!"

Right, illegal. He'd forgotten. Well, can't let her know _that_.

"Like I care," he said, feigning nonchalance and taking another puff.

"Put it away, you maniac," she said with a grin.

Reluctantly, he doused the joint and stuck it back in his jacket. They talked a bit more, and eventually left to walk to one of the restaurants near the park for a late lunch. Draco paid with cash and they wandered the city, chatting about whatever they happened to come across. Mary dragged him into a cinema and she shushed him repeatedly as he tried to ask questions about how it worked. The film itself was relatively simple, centring about an ant who was upset with his station in life, but once again, it was better than staying at home. Finally, they returned to Darren's apartment in the late afternoon.

"I had a really good time today, Drake," she said, fiddling with the lapels of his blazer as they stood on the stone steps leading up to the foyer.

"Yeah, it was uh… well, it wasn't completely shite," Draco said, "are you going in?"

Mary nodded.

"Do you want to come up for a bit?" she asked.

"No," Draco said, "I've got to get home, make sure my mum hasn't set the place on fire."

Mary nodded, looking down at the steps.

"Well, good night," she said.

"Night," Draco said, already halfway down the steps.

He walked back to the Leaky through the deepening dusk and dropping temperature, then apparated from Diagon to the Manor. The front doors swung open and Draco stopped at the threshold. He could very clearly hear the sound of dripping water and walked to the grand staircase to find a steady trickle running down the steps. With a growing sense of dread, he took them two at a time and followed the trail of water down the hall, into his mother's bedroom. The sound of a running tap came from the bathroom; his shoes squelched on the flooded bedroom carpet as he walked to the massive bathroom. He found his mother in the large tub, head leaned back against the lip and cushioned with several towels. Water ran freely over the lip in a small waterfall, and her eyes were closed, mouth open. A dark green potions bottle sat uncorked on the counter. Draco splashed over to the tub and felt for a pulse in his mother's neck and sighed when he felt the steady beat of her heart. Relief poured through him as he reached for the tap and shut off the water, then he checked the potions bottle. It was one of the owl-order potions she'd been dosing herself with. The label proclaimed it as 'essence of tranquillity', and he turned it over in his hand to read the ingredients.

"_Asphodel, wormwood, this is a variant of draught of living death!_" he thought.

He pointed his wand at his mother.

"_Rennervate_," he said, but she didn't even twitch. Probably not surprising, given she'd downed the entire bottle. Merlin knew how long she'd be sleeping it off.

He levitated her out of the bath and tried to ignore that he was, once again, seeing his mother's naked body, and floated her to her bed.

"_Aquosiccin,_" he said, drying her with a quick drought spell before letting her settle there and using his wand to float the large comforter over her form. He sighed and set about cleaning up the flooded carpeting, bathroom, and anywhere else the water had gotten to with liberal use of the drought charm.

"_If she had drowned, would you even have cared?_" he thought.

He washed up in the bathroom, reliving the panic when he realized she was unconscious in the tub.

"_Probably would have just been relieved, then fucked off and gone with Theo to Italy,_" he thought, "_what kind of son doesn't care if his own mother dies?_"

Speaking of Theo, Draco realized he was already close to exceeding the boundaries of casual lateness and dangerously encroaching on rudeness. He turned and apparated to Nott Manor.

While not quite as large as Malfoy Manor, Theo's home was stately nonetheless. A large gravel walkway led from the front gates around a white stone fountain, and a dozen white marble steps led up to a large front porch which ran around the right side of the building. Draco stepped up and knocked, merely a formality. A house elf answered the door, reaching up to the doorknob to open it.

"Master is expecting Mr. Malfoy," the being said.

"Inform Theo I've arrived," Draco said.

The elf bowed and popped away, while Draco made himself home in one of the drawing rooms, one with thick cream carpets, several comfortable looking armchairs and couches of shades of green and blue, interspersed with dark stained tables, some with glass tops. An easel holding blank canvass and palette sat near one of the dark windows. A wooden drink cabinet sat against one wall, holding a silver platter and set of crystal tumblers and glasses all sitting atop a white cloth. A low crackling hearth dominated the opposite wall. Draco sat down and slouched in one of the overstuffed armchairs.

"Look what the kneazle dragged in. Where in Merlin's name have you been?" Theo asked from the doorway, "I stopped by the manor twice earlier this week and you weren't there."

"I was…"

"_Getting high with a bunch of muggles,_" he thought.

"Taking care of things," he said.

Theo snorted.

"You should know by now you can't lie to me," Theo said, "anyway, that's not important. The good news is she's not here yet; you still have some time to clean up."

"I'm fine," Draco said. The armchair was comfortable and couldn't really work up the motivation to move.

"If you consider smelling like a troll and looking like you just broke out of Azkaban fine," Theo said, "get up or I'll aguamenti you."

Draco knew Theo wasn't joking, so he took a dramatic breath and stood.

"Prat," he said. He walked to one of the guest bathrooms, the one he most preferred, and took a quick shower. Draco gave himself a rough shave using his wand, and returned to the drawing room to find Theo with his head stuck through the floo. Nott stood up and turned to face him.

"Better," he said, "she's coming through now, and Pansy too."

"Bollocks," Draco muttered.

"Not my fault, I didn't know she was visiting Daphne and her mum today," Theo said.

The flames roared and Daphne stepped through, her long blonde hair pulled back into a French braid. She wore rich brown robes with crimson trim and dark leather boots, perfect for fall. Pansy followed shortly afterwards, her dark hair free down to her back, pug nose as prominent as ever. Her robes were unremarkable black and cinched about her waist, and in her hand she held a bottle of Ogden's finest.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Theo said with a bow and exaggerated flourish.

"Good to see you Theo," Daphne said, stepping forward to plant a kiss on his cheek.

"Good evening Theo," Pansy said, holding her free hand for Theo to kiss. Theo bent over her knuckles but didn't make contact.

"Do you have any glasses?" Pansy asked looking around.

"Do you have to ask?" Theo replied, moving to the liquor cabinet and selecting four crystal pony glasses and setting them about one of the tables. He held out his hand for the bottle, and Pansy obliged, handing it over for him to pour.

Draco cleared his throat.

"Oh, hi Draco, I didn't see you there," Pansy said.

"Draco, you're looking well," Daphne said.

"Cut the crap, I look like shite," Draco said.

Pansy sniggered while Daphne and Theo exchanged a look and nodded.

"How's probation?" Daphne asked, "Theo told me the basics."

Draco stepped forward and took a glass and the bottle, pouring himself a half-measure.

"That is a conversation which requires alcohol," he said.

He poured for each of them and they raised the crystal. It was then Draco realized he had no idea what to say.

"Family," he said.

"_May they sort themselves out because I certainly can't,_" he thought.

"To family," they repeated, then downed the firewhiskey. True to its name, it burned a path down Draco's throat and sat like smouldering coals in his belly, warming him from within.

"I work with muggle orphans," Draco said, "cleaning up after them, entertaining them, keeping them from killing themselves by accident. Muggle lives are shite, and the orphans' lives are even worse, but none of them seem to realize it. Except me."

Pansy huffed and wrinkled her nose as if she'd smelled something truly odious.

"Fucking ministry," she said with a look of disgust plastered across her face. She downed a second glass.

"Where've you been," Draco asked Daphne, "I heard you left the country?"

Daphne nodded.

"The three of us, Mother, myself, and Astoria, left after Father's sentencing, travelled around a bit. We're staying in Berlin now," she said, "Tory's back at Hogwarts though. I suppose I'll find out how she's doing this weekend."

Draco nodded.

"Do you think you'll come back to Britain?" Draco asked.

"Don't see why we would, it's impossible to find work," Daphne replied.

"Bloody impossible," Pansy said, "stupid Ministry and their quotas. Might as well just take everything we have and give it to the mudbloods and blood traitors. Say what you want about us, but at least we were always honest about what we thought of them."

"Come on, it can't be that bad," Draco said.

Draco realized this was the wrong thing to say as Pansy gave him her most indignant glare and her voice started rising in pitch and volume.

"None of the purebloods from our class can find gainful employment, not a single one," Pansy said, "it's not bloody fair, I spent seven years at that bloody school, and now nobody will hire me. Not everyone has a massive vault they can live off of forever."

Draco closed his eyes and rubbed his temples as she continued. Pansy's patented screeching was one of the things he absolutely did not miss about Hogwarts. He produced the plastic baggie and paper from his blazer pocket and started rolling a joint right there on the table. He stopped when he realized Pansy had gone quiet and looked up to see all eyes on him.

"Draco, what the bloody hell are you doing?" Pansy asked.

"Well," Draco said, licking the paper shut, "your screeching was killing my buzz, so I'm self-medicating."

He lit the end with his wand and took a long drag, held it, then exhaled a stream of smoke. He took another hit and then motioned with his hand.

"Please, continue," Draco said.

"I think I'd rather talk about what it is you're smoking," Pansy said, "it smells like something Trelawney would have burning in the corner to help us open our 'inner eye'."

She held her hands up around her eyes to mimic the Divination professor's massive spectacles.

"You will lose something dear to you, I'm so sorry," she said in an apt imitation.

"This, is marijuana," Draco said, holding it up, "you smoke it and it makes all your worries and cares evaporate. Also makes you hungry."

He looked over to Theo.

"Maybe you could have your elf bring us some nibbles?" Draco said, "I'm going to have the munchies soon."

"Where's it from?" Daphne asked as the elf popped into the room.

"Muggles," Draco said, "cost me a pretty knut too. Want to try?"

He held the smouldering joint out to Daphne.

"First of all, it's muggle," she said, wrinkling her nose, "Second, you had your lips on that."

"Wasn't too long ago you'dve jumped at the chance to say your lips touched something after mine," Draco said.

"In your dreams Malfoy," Daphne said, but she took the joint anyway.

"First one's free," Draco said, the corner of one lip threatening to twitch into a smirk, "just take some into your mouth and then breathe deep."

Daphne coughed as she tried to inhale, and Draco giggled like a madman.

"Happened to me too, try again," he said.

Daphne got a good lungful on the second hit, and Theo snatched the joint from her hand.

"Is this what's been keeping you out there all the time?" Theo asked.

Draco shrugged, the weed already mellowing him out.

Theo took a hit and sucked it in, holding his breath, fighting to keep the smoke down until his eyes watered and his face turned red.

"You look like you've been hit with a strangulation jinx, Theo," Pansy said with a barking laugh.

Theo coughed as he exhaled and he looked at Draco triumphantly, but Draco just stared back at him and gave him a thumbs up.

"Bet you would know what that looks like, Parkinson," Theo said, holding the joint out to her. She gave him a sneering look then took it tentatively. She coughed the first time the same as Daphne, but managed to get the second one down.

The four of them took turns smoking Draco's weed and drinking Theo's booze. Theo's elf arrived with miniature sandwiches, all of which were eagerly gobbled down in minutes. Before long, a smoky haze filled the room, and the four of them were giggling and pontificating like blithering idiots.

"Why is it, if someone has two portraits done of themselves," Pansy said, staring at vacant portrait on the wall, "then they're in one and one is vacant? Why couldn't I have two portraits done, and then I could visit myself and keep me company?"

"'Keep yourself company," Daphne said, "admit it, you just want to know what its like to spend a night in bed with yourself."

Pansy gave a half-shrug and nodded, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

"Maybe they do and they're just invisible, and the portraits don't tell us," Theo said, "kind of like the Statute of Secrecy for portraits."

"Statute of Secrecy for portraits?" Daphne said, "who enforces that, the Portrait Patrol?"

She started giggling at her own joke.

"_Yes, this is a good evening_," Draco thought as the conversation escalated from there.

Draco awoke the next morning with a splitting headache, made all the worse by the irregular sound of clinking bottles. He cracked one eye open to see Pansy crouched down, rummaging through the cabinet. Grey, early morning light filtered in through the unblocked windows; it looked like yet another overcast day was in the offing.

"Pansy, I can always count on you to raid my liquor stores at the appropriate time," Theo said from across the room. Draco sat up slowly on the couch and worked out a kink in his neck. They'd ended up falling asleep around one or two in the morning.

"Do you have any hangover potion?" Pansy asked, shoulders deep in the liquor cabinet.

"No, though I could definitely use some," Theo said.

"Then it is absolutely the appropriate time, because I need a drink," Pansy said.

"_Tempus,"_ Draco said, "bollocks, I've got to go."

"Wait, Draco," Daphne said from another couch, robe wrinkled and blond tresses still wavy from being in a braid the night before, "last night was honestly the most I've laughed since the war. Think we can do it again?"

Draco grimaced.

"Only if you bring the gold. We smoked at least twenty-five galleons worth last night," he replied, "maybe thirty."

Daphne looked hurt, like her pet cat had just been eaten by a hag, then looked to Theo.

"Nah, not really my thing," Theo said. Daphne pouted, then nodded.

"This'll do," Pansy said, pulling a dark blue bottle out, "Theo, I'm taking this."

"It's not like I'm going to stop you," Theo said, "can I convince you to stay for breakfast?"

"I should get home, Mother is probably worried," Daphne said, standing up, stretching, slipping her shoes on, and walking to the fireplace.

"Thanks for last night," she said as Theo approached to see her off.

"I'm going to tell everyone you said that after spending the night at my manor," Theo replied.

She playfully smacked him on the shoulder before ducking through the floo in a roar of green flames.

"See you, Theo," Pansy said. He smiled and nodded at her before she left as well.

"Hopefully not," he muttered.

Draco finished tying his second shoe and stood up.

"Hey mate," Theo said, a serious expression on his face, "this smoking thing, try not to get in too deep."

Draco looked at him questioningly.

"Look, nothing good can come of it," Theo said.

Draco shook his head.

"That stuff is the only thing that keeps me sane enough to tolerate this muggle probation," Draco said, "I'd go mental without it."

"That's what concerns me," Theo said.

"_What cheek, sitting in his mansion, inheritance relatively intact, free to come and go as he pleases_," Draco thought.

"Theo, I'm only going to say this once," Draco said, holding up an index finger, "you know about fuck all of what I'm going through, so I'll ask you to keep your bloody opinions to yourself until I bloody well ask for them."

Draco took a few deep breaths through his nostrils, then ran his fingers through his hair.

"I'll stop as soon as the probation's over, just another four months," Draco said.

Theo nodded.

"I've got to get going," Draco said, "thanks for the invite, and the food."

"Anytime," Theo said.

Draco apparated home, checked to make sure his mother was still breathing, opted once again to forego showering in favour of a few scented charms, and went to change some more money at Gringott's. After getting ripped off by the goblins again, he hiked to the orphanage through the grey London morning. When he arrived at small pitch behind the orphanage, he found the statuesque Pam Baker placing orange cones, setting up a game of what looked like capture the flag.

"Morning Pam, where's Steph?" he asked.

"Hi Drake," Pam said with a dazzling smile, showing off her perfectly straight white teeth, "Steph's on holiday, so I'm covering for her."

With Darren somehow having gotten out of completing the rest of his probation, it was just himself, Mack, and Alan working as 'volunteers' with the pre-teen kids. Pam normally looked after the teenagers and was older and more experienced than Steph, so with her in charge things would be easier. Mack and Alan had yet to show up when the cafeteria doors slammed open and disgorged a horde of screaming muggle children.

"Okay everyone, single file on the centre line," Pam called, pointing to where she wanted the children to go.

The children fell in and Pam counted them off by two's to make teams, and blew a whistle to start the game. The air filled with the sounds of laughing, shouting children. Draco noticed one of them, a little boy that reminded him of a shorter, stubbier Neville Longbottom, sitting out the game on a chair in the shadow of the orphanage, something thick and blue around his arm.

"What's wrong with him?" Draco asked.

"He broke his arm over the weekend," Pam replied, scanning the game, "the cast'll be on for six weeks or so."

Six weeks. For a broken arm. Draco sneered. Any decent healer would have that fixed in under ten seconds.

"I don't know why he's so sad," a little voice said from beside them, "it was his own fault it got broke."

Draco hadn't even noticed little Callista walk up to them.

"Callie, that's not a nice thing to say," Pam said without taking her eyes off the game.

"Well it's true," Callie mumbled as she rolled her eyes. Draco didn't think Pam heard.

"Pam, can I use the loo?" she asked.

"_May _I use the loo. Drake, take her?" Pam asked.

Draco nodded and walked behind the little blonde girl before opening the back door to let them in. The boy sitting by the doorway flinched aside as Callista walked past him.

"_Odd,_" Draco thought.

"Callista, do you know how that boy broke his arm?" Draco asked.

"He fell down the steps," Callie answered.

"Do you know how he fell?" Draco asked.

"No, but everyone saw him fall," Callista said, looking straight ahead, "I was already at the bottom."

Draco looked at the golden hair of the little girl walking front of him. If he didn't know better, he'd swear that almost sounded like she'd had something to do with it. They arrived at the loo and Draco waited outside while Callista finished up. She smiled at him when she emerged.

"Drake, are you going to marry Mary?" she asked.

"Are you mad?" Draco said, "No. Why?"

"She likes you, I can tell," the little girl said as she walked towards the rear of the orphanage again.

"I like you too," she added, "you talk to me like a person, not like a pet animal or something."

"_How's that for irony,_" Draco thought, considering that until very recently, he considered all muggles barely better than animals.

"If you get married, you can be my dad," Callie said.

"What the-" Draco stammered.

"I'll be good, I promise," the little girl said.

They were at the field now, halfway between the orphanage and where Pam Baker stood watching the game.

"Absolutely not," Draco said, "first of all, I'd be a shite father, and second, I'm not having this conversation with a seven year old. Get back in the game."

Callie stared up at him with a serious expression, her steely grey eyes reflecting the skies above, before turning and skipping back to the game.

Draco shook his head and resumed his spot next to Baker.

"I just had the strangest conversation with Callie," Draco said, "what's gotten into her?"

"She's had a rough time since Mary aged out," Pam said, "hopefully she'll get over it soon."

Pam blew her whistle to call a time out and switched a few players around before returning to the sidelines.

"By the way, you reek of weed," Pam said.

Draco's heart nearly stopped.

She turned to look at him, and he stared back to see a serious expression on her sun-kissed face.

"I don't know what's going on, but I think you need to settle down a bit," she said, "I'm not going to say anything to Macmillian, but you can't come here stoned out of your mind and be responsible for watching these kids."

Draco nodded.

"Okay," he said, "thanks."

Part of him wanted to tell perfect Pam Baker to go screw herself, the stupid muggle. Another part was grateful for her looking out for him. In the end he just stayed silent and watched the muggle children chase each other around the pitch, shrieking with laughter. His eyes sought out Mary McKay's blonde-haired younger sister, but she seemed just as normal as all the others, chasing after green tennis balls and dodging the other kids.

Mack and Alan showed up midway through the game, right before it started drizzling. Pam clapped her hands and ordered everyone inside. Draco and the others ushered the children into the darkened assembly room, where they sat on the floor and watched a movie projected on the wall. Draco stood near the doorway, caught up in the story of a lion who took the privilege of his station for granted then struggled to live up to the legacy of his father. He identified with the lion cub a bit, the carefree attitude of his youth and naïve entitlement. Then later, the weight of the expectations of his name, his pure blood status, it always seemed no matter how good he was, he was never good enough. Then as the movie progressed, he realized with a sinking feeling he wasn't the lion cub in the story… he was just one of the hyenas, and probably not even one with a name.

His ruminations were broken by Mack nudging into him.

"Hey, you lot smoking later? Mind if I join this time?" he whispered.

"Yes, and yes, I mind," Draco replied.

"Come on, you share with my mates, what gives?" Mack said.

"They're my mates, and you're not," Draco said, "it's mine, and I can share it with whomever I wish."

"Why are you such a twat?" Mack whispered.

"Because you were a prick to me when I showed up here, and the only reason you stopped is because you want something I have," Draco replied.

Someone in the crowd shushed them and they fell silent. Draco could practically feel Mack stewing next to him, and although he knew it was petty, he delighted in having power over someone again, even if it was some pathetic muggle delinquent.

It rained on and off the rest of the day, a typical gloomy fall day in London. They watched movies and Pam led the children in ridiculous skit games to keep them occupied, before ending with arts and crafts like they usually did. Finally, after clean-up, Draco set off alone for Darren's apartment. The nights came earlier in late October, and it was fully dark almost before he left the orphanage. Draco drew his blazer closer about him and hunched his shoulders as he walked the wet pavement, looking down at his feet to keep the drizzle out of his eyes. He heard some people up ahead and looked up to see three young men in leather jackets walking towards him, jabbering about something or other in rapid fire muggle slang. He thought about crossing to the other side of the street but convinced himself he was just being paranoid. He kept an eye on them as they split apart and he was forced to pass between them, then without warning, a sharp blinding pain erupted in his temple and he saw stars.

Draco fell to the ground, dazed, while all three men kicked and punched him for a few seconds, and he didn't even have time to realize what was happening, only to curl up into a ball to protect himself as best he could. He tried to go for his wand but couldn't manage defending his face from a muggle trying to stomp on it while pulling up his trouser leg.

"He's got a knife!" someone yelled, and someone grabbed his arms from behind and hauled him to his feet, pressing him against the wall, while another pulled the wand from his leg holster.

His arm was roughly twisted behind his back and he cried out in pain until someone clamped a meaty hand over his mouth. Draco twisted his head around a few times until he was able to get a sizable chunk of flesh between his teeth and bit down, hard. He was rewarded with a yelp, followed by a fist slamming into the back of his head, causing his forehead to smack against the wall with a dull thud. Dazed, he dropped to the ground, where once again kicks and punches rained down on him until he was a bruised and bloodied mess lying in a foetal position on the pavement. Semi-conscious, he felt someone rifling through his pockets and, with a bit of effort, worked the wad of cash from his jeans.

"Yeah!" someone said, holding up the bag of weed pilfered from his blazer.

"Just what the hell were you going to do with this?" the meaty guy said, holding up his wand. Draco made a grab for it but the thug lifted it up out of his reach.

"This a shiv or something?" he asked.

"Give it to me and I'll show you," Draco slurred as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

The muggle tried to twist the wand like a container, then started bending it.

"No, don't!" Draco said, holding out a hand.

"Don't what," the thug said, then deliberately bent the ends of Draco's wand together.

_*snap*_

Draco's eyes widened, and he saw red. With a roar, he launched himself at the thug, catching him by surprise and tackling him to the ground. Draco landed two satisfying punches on the muggle's face before he was pulled off and pummelled again by his buddies. Vaguely he felt his head being pulled up by his hair. His vision blurred and he saw double, but managed to make out a fist coming at him and he turned his head at the last instant, probably saving his nose from being broken. He heard more than felt the wet pavement smacking him in the cheek before he blacked out.

Draco woke up shivering. He was numb and sore all over at the same time. One of his eyes refused to open, and he was pretty sure he'd cracked or broken a rib, considering the way each breath hurt. Gingerly, he pushed himself to a sitting position and waited for the dizziness to stop. He looked around and spotted what remained of his wand lying next to him. The muggles had broken it a few more times, and it now lay in a half-dozen pieces like garbage on the broken pavement. He tried to swallow the tears down but they refused to obey his wishes. What was he without his wand? No money, no social standing, almost no friends. He was little better than the pathetic muggles he mingled with every day.

He lay there for several minutes, still coughing and trying to find a way to breathe that wasn't excruciating, while the chill rainwater seeped through his clothes. He got into a kneeling position, very slowly, and touched his cheek with his fingers, wincing when he saw them come away red with blood.

He tried to mumble something about his predicament, but all that came out was a pained groan. Fucking London. Fucking muggles.

With blurred vision, he scooped up the fragments and deposited them into his jacket pocket.

"_Pathetic. Couldn't even take a few unarmed muggles_," Draco thought.

Thoughts of what he might have done differently flashed through his head, from carrying his wand out in the open, to bringing Alan with him, to apparating from a loo directly to Darren's rooftop, risks to the Statute be damned. All that was hindsight though. His wand, the wand he'd learned to cast his first _Lumos_ with, was shattered, along with any sense of feeling good about this probation, or his life in general. Plus, with Garrick Ollivander having been an unwilling prisoner in his cellar earlier in that same year, he doubted very much the wandmaker would be willing to craft or sell a new one for him. Ever. To top it all off, he had no more weed, and no easy way of purchasing more. Shakily, he stood up, wincing as his left knee gave out with enough pain to blur his vision, and he leaned against the wall for support. He tested taking a step or two and found he could walk, barely. It was nearly an hour's hike back to the Leaky, and Darren's apartment was only a few blocks away. Slowly, painfully, he limped to Darren's. He hopped up the steps to the buzzer because his bloody leg wouldn't support his weight.

"Yeah," Darren's voice said.

"It's me, open up," Draco said.

The door buzzed, and Draco pushed his way through the vestibule, then sighed at the foot of the staircase. He continued hopping his way up, leaning heavily on the banister, every twist of his body and breath burning with pain, then knocked on the apartment door.

Darren threw it open, only for his jaw to drop open when he saw Draco.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asked, moving aside so Draco could enter.

Draco stumbled into the apartment and half lay, half fell onto the couch.

"Mugged on the way here," Draco said, leaning his head on an armrest of the couch and extending his injured leg across the other one.

He closed his eyes.

"Money's gone, weed's gone," he said, "listen mate, if ever I needed a hit, it's right now. Do you think you could front me, and I'll pay you tomorrow? What about that stronger stuff you mentioned, got any of that lying around?"

Darren looked torn.

"Drake, I-" he started, but Mary chose that moment to open the hallway door and enter the room.

"Oh my god, Drake what happened to you?" she said, rushing over to him and making to touch his face but holding off, "hang on, I'll get some alcohol."

"Some firewhiskey would be good, McKay," Draco said.

"Not for drinking, you ponce," Mary said from the kitchen, where she opened a metal case and poured some clear liquid out of a plastic container and onto a few cloth pads.

She returned and started dabbing at the scrapes and abrasions, the cold liquid stinging something fierce despite her gentle touch.

"Sorry mate, can't do it," Darren replied, "I feel like shite about what happened, but business is business. Money first."

"It's okay Mary," Draco said, "you don't have to-"

"Shut the fuck up and let me clean these out," Mary said.

"_O…kay," _Draco thought, stunned into silence.

Draco lay there quietly while Mary worked on his face. If he could just get home, he'd be able to patch himself up.

"Okay, I understand about the weed, but can you spot me for a cab? I'll pay you back tomorrow, but right now I can't walk home," Draco said.

"Yeah, I guess that would be alright," Darren said, "do you know who they were?"

"I don't know," Draco said, still with his eyes closed, "there were three of them. I don't think I've ever met them before."

Darren furrowed his brows in thought while Draco tried to take shallow breaths.

"Darren, please, mate, I need whatever the fuck that stronger stuff was," Draco said.

"I can try to score you some blow, will that work?" Darren asked.

"Will it make me feel…"

_Like less of a complete and utter fuckup._

"better, and less like my entire life is shite?" Draco asked.

Darren nodded.

"Should," he said.

Draco nodded.

"Go get it," he said.

"Two hundred quid," Darren said, "and I need it up front, then I'll try to see if I can score some. And you have to buy some new clothes."

"Clothes?" Draco asked.

"Look mate, normally I make it a point not to comment on another man's fashion sense, but if you keep dressing like you're from Oxford, around here, you're just asking to get jumped," Darren said, "that's not good for you, and it's not good for me."

"_Okay, makes sense," _Draco thought. He didn't really have the strength to get the words out so he just nodded once.

"Mary, can you take him shopping later this week after he gets off from the orphanage?" Darren asked.

"You're not really going in, are you?" Mary asked.

"I have to, I can't miss a day," Draco said, "that's why I need to get home, I have…"

_Potions._

"Something that will help me recover faster," Draco said.

Darren walked to the kitchen and picked a magnet off the fridge, then started dialling, the snip and clicks of the phone's rotor almost lulling Draco to sleep until Darren started giving his address.

"You're sure you don't want to stay the night, you can have the bed in my room," Mary whispered.

Draco just shook his head. One bloody potion and he'd be right as rain.

Darren hung up the phone.

"Ten minutes," he said, pulling out a wad of bills from his pockets and counting out thirty pounds and handing it to Draco.

"Thanks," Draco said, taking the cash.

He sat up and concentrated on breathing for a moment, then stood up. In just the few minutes he'd spent on the couch his knee had already started to stiffen up, but he forced it to flex through the pain.

"It's going to take me ten minutes to get down the bloody stairs," he said.

Darren grabbed a jumper from a hook near the door and pulled Draco's arm over his shoulder.

"Thanks, again," Draco said as Darren helped him down to the ground floor while Mary cleaned up. Once they were outside Darren shoved his hands into his pockets.

"You're sure you don't need me to come with you," he asked.

Draco shook his head.

"No, trust me, it's better if you don't," he said.

Darren nodded and waited until the taxi arrived. Draco crawled into the back seat and waved to him as the car pulled away. He gave the address for the Leaky Cauldron and leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He must have dozed off because the cabbie had to shout at him to let him know they'd arrived. He paid for the ride with Darren's money, then limped through the bar. At the brick wall he reached for his wand and froze. Cautiously he pulled out the stub end of what remained and tapped his way in, giving a sigh of relief when the brick doorway rolled back. It was a long, painful walk to a public floo, but soon enough he was home, stumbling out of the fireplace.

"Mother?" he called, but there was no response.

"_Typical, the one time I actually need her,_" he thought.

Draco limped his way to the cabinet where they kept the potions, and moved them around until he found what he was looking for, wiggenweld. He popped off the stopper and downed the entire bottle. Almost immediately he began to feel better. His rib popped back into place, and he could put weight on his leg normally again. Then he walked to his father's study and opened the drawer where they kept their ministry provided allowance, only to find it empty.

"_Bollocks, that's right. Nearly a week until the next payment_," Draco thought, "_no way am I going to wait that long._"

He needed money, fast. Long strides took him to a standing cabinet in one of the drawing rooms, and he opened the polished stained wood doors by the brass handles. Several sets of ornate gem encrusted goblets and silver plates greeted him, a gift from one of their family members long ago; he didn't even recall which one. Draco went to draw his wand but with an emptiness in his gut, realized he no longer had one. He cast about for some way to transport the plates and goblets, and ended stacking them together on the table, along with a pair of silver candlesticks, and tying the ends of the tablecloth together. He hefted the makeshift parcel, the weight nearly throwing him off balance, then slung it over his shoulder and walked to the fireplace to floo to Knockturn.

In hindsight, it was probably a stupid idea to walk through Knockturn Alley dressed as a muggle with a sack full of clanking silver plates and goblets, but luckily he only had a short way to go. He shouldered his way into Odds and Ends, the dimly lit pawn shop. All sorts of bits of jewellery, cutlery, paintings, carpets, and other knickknacks cluttered the shelves. A Sweet Tooth gnome in a birdcage lunged at him as he passed by on his way to the counter, screeching obscenities and begging for sugar.

Draco reached the counter, deposited the makeshift sack on the ground, and looked up at the shopkeeper, a tall, lean, middle aged man, with long greying hair, a squarish face, and overly large nose. A wrinkled brown suit jacket with a patch on one elbow hung off his shoulders, and his trousers rode so high his belt sat just below his ribcage. The man's name was Slump. Whether that was his real name or not, Draco had no idea, but that's what everyone called him. He looked almost exactly the same as when Draco had last seen him, in his fifth year, when he and Theo had stopped in while window shopping during winter hols.

"Late is the hour, and the scion of Malfoy comes knocking," Slump said, "times are tough these days, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Spare me," Draco said, "How much for these?"

He opened the tablecloth and produced the plates, candlesticks, platter, and goblets, and placed them on the counter.

The old man picked up a goblet with his gnarled fingers and held it up to the light, looking at one of the rubies embedded in it.

"I think… fifty galleons," he said.

"You're joking," Draco said, "the platter alone is worth more than that, and the whole lot is worth ten times that, maybe twenty."

"It's like I said, times are tough, Mr. Malfoy," Slump replied with a serious expression on his face, "unless I've missed my mark, you need gold, and you need it badly."

Draco couldn't really argue with that. Only a certain type of person showed up at a pawn shop late in the evening with a half-dozen cups and plates wrapped in a tablecloth.

"What about… two-fifty?" Draco asked.

They haggled back and forth finally settling on one hundred twenty galleons.

Draco felt slimy as he stuck the pouch into his pocket, having just sold some of his family's belongings for a relative pittance. Still, one hundred twenty galleons should be able to last him for a while, especially since the next allowance was only a few days away. He made it back to the manor safely, split the gold in half and stuck half under his mattress, then passed out into bed. The next morning he woke up and had to walk through half the manor to find a clock and make sure he wasn't going to be late. After taking a shower, he considered bringing the pieces of his wand, but settled on just the stub end so he could tap his way into Diagon when he returned. A quick visit to Gringott's (bloody goblins!), and he was off to the orphanage again.

The day dragged, and Draco found himself continually checking the clock.

"You're looking well rested today," Pam said, flashing him a smile, "keep it up."

"Thanks," Draco said. He didn't mention he'd been beaten to a pulp the night before.

Just before clean-up, Mary poked her head in the door and he went to stand by her, and she just stared at him the whole way.

"Drake, you're… you're fine," she said.

"I _am_ fine, thank you," Draco said, more on instinct than anything else, because he certainly didn't _feel_ fine after having his wand broken and selling off some of his property for knuts on the galleon.

"No," Mary said, "you're not injured, not even a bit."

"Err," Draco said, scrambling for an explanation, "it looked a lot worse than it was."

"What… how…?" she asked.

"Mary!" Pam Baker said, coming over and inadvertently rescuing Draco, "how are you?"

Draco spotted Callie and threw a piece of chalk at her to get her attention as the two women exchanged pleasantries.

"Mary!" Callie said, leaping to her feet and running over, crashing into Mary's thigh at full speed.

Mary knelt down and wrapped her half-sister in a tight hug.

"How's my favourite sister?" Mary asked.

"I'm your only sister. I hate it here now, can I come live with you?" the little girl replied.

Mary frowned.

"You hate it? What happened?" Mary asked.

"Ryan pushed me down," Callie replied.

Draco's eavesdropping of the conversation was interrupted by Pam calling for clean-up. He joined the bustle of dozens of children stopping their painting and washing up. He, Alan, and Mack finished up while Mary went with the children to dinner, presumably to sit with Callista. While they were cleaning up, Mack 'accidentally' spilled some red paint on Draco's trousers.

"Why are you such a prick, Mack?" Draco asked, stepping right up into the larger boy's face.

"Guys, let's just finish cleaning, yeah?" Alan said.

"Why won't you share your stuff with me?" Mack asked.

"You're joking, right?" Draco replied, "I'm not sharing with you and you think ruining my trousers is going to make me more likely to? Do you need your head examined?"

Mary chose that moment to make her return.

"Ready Drake?" she asked.

Mack's eyes flicked back and forth between Mary and Draco.

"Oh, you're going with her now? You do realize she's only interested because you've got money," Mack said.

Maybe a day of not smoking had cleared his mind a bit, or maybe it was seven years of scheming practice with the snakes, but for a moment, Draco had crystal clear clarity of exactly what was going on in Mack's head. He may have been beaten down, he may have almost no hope left, but he would be damned if he couldn't dish out a schoolyard insult to someone who deserved it.

"You fancy her, don't you," Draco said, lifting his nose into the air and summoning every ounce of aristocratic superiority he could muster, "you fancy her, but you've got absolutely nothing to offer. No money, no looks, no prospects, not even an interesting conversation."

Mack's eyes alternated between Mary and Draco again, his expression one of shock and worry.

"No I don't," he said.

"And the best part is," Draco said, almost laughing now, "is you don't even have the stones to tell her."

"Fuck you Malfoy!" Mack said, shoving Draco hard.

"Guys! You can't fight here!" Alan said, but it wasn't necessary because Mack turned to walk out of the room.

"Say hi to lefty for me," Draco said, and Mack flipped him off over his shoulder.

Draco smirked, walked to the sinks, and tried to scrub the paint from his trousers, still snickering.

"You're such a prick," Mary said.

"Yeah I am," Draco said, "trust me, he had it coming."

"Do you really think he fancies me?" Mary asked.

"Sure, what's not to like," Draco replied absently.

The paint had mostly come out at the expense of looking like he'd wet himself, and he and Mary set off from the orphanage. They hopped on a bus and rode it a few stops, exiting at a multilevel shopping mall. Families and groups of friends wandered about inside, including several gaggles of secondary school aged children, perhaps a few years younger than Draco and Mary. They entered a large brightly lit clothing store with annoyingly boring music piped in from speakers he couldn't see. Draco already had several pairs of jeans, so he chose a few shirts which Mary instantly dismissed as too posh. She then proceeded to pick out several t-shirts and hooded sweatshirts, and selected a pair of black trainers for him, and they headed to checkout.

"Hang on," he said, and grabbed a cheap digital watch near the cashier.

"That should do it," Mary said, after the clothing had all been folded into the large paper bag, "Put these on and you'll look broke as a joke. Darren's not going to be home until later, so we have some time."

"What do we do until then?" he asked.

"Let's walk around a bit," she replied.

They wandered aimlessly, checking the various stores. Mary led him up a moving staircase. Despite being well into his probation and more or less being able to get around without completely embarrassing himself or nearly getting himself killed, Draco still often found himself in almost admiration of what the muggles had been able to achieve, all without magic. Then again, if they had magic, they wouldn't have needed to do all of this. Then again, even he had to admit it was easier riding up the 'escalator' as Mary called it, than climbing the staircases at Hogwarts. He wondered why Darren's apartment didn't have them. He was about to ask Mary when she stopped suddenly and grabbed his forearm.

"Tomorrow's Halloween," she said, "do you have plans?"

Draco shook his head. Truth be told, he'd completely lost track of the date. Halloween, when the Dark Lord had been defeated the first time. Practically a national holiday for most of wizarding Britain, though it was anything but in his household.

"There's a party, but you'll need a costume," she said, leading him to a shop with garish masks and outfits displayed. Several muggles browsed the cramped aisles, trying on different masks and generally having a good time.

Draco fell into his own thoughts as Mary jabbered on. He'd never been to a muggle party before, but Mary seemed very enthusiastic about the whole thing. Did he really want to go? What was the alternative? Get blind drunk by himself, or with Mother?

"Drake?" Mary said. Draco got the impression it wasn't the first time she'd tried to get his attention.

She held up an outrageous fluffy white shirt, a fake belt, sword, pistol, and boots that weren't really boots, just a bit of leather meant to cover the shoes and shins. A large black overcoat with silvery trim hung behind the whole thing, and the costume was topped off by a stiff black tricorn hat.

"What is that supposed to be?" he asked.

"It's a pirate. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum?" she said, shaking the costume, "twenty quid, what do you think?"

"I dunno, who's going to this party?" Draco asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"That you know? Just me and Darren, but there will be a lot of people there. It's some of Bruno's friends," Mary said, "it'll be wild, guaranteed."

"_Well fuck it, haven't got anything better to do, and I definitely don't want to be anywhere near Wizarding London on Halloween,"_ Draco thought.

He grabbed the costume and Mary grinned and clapped her hands a few times, practically skipping next to him as they left the shop. She hooked her arm through his as they walked, and Draco didn't flinch at all. In fact, as he thought back at the moments they'd shared, how much she laughed at his jokes, or brushed his hair from his face or made little touches on his arm or leg, he guessed Mary had something for him. Whether what Mack said was true or not, that she was only interested in his money, he wasn't sure, but it didn't really matter; she was a muggle, and he didn't have any money left anyway.

He let her lead him through the mall and to the bus stop while he meandered through the fucked up landscape that passed for his mind these days. How did he feel about her? He looked down at her and she turned to look up at him, breaking into a smirk before steering him out through the glass doors and onto the busy sidewalk. She wasn't bad looking, with her sky-blue eyes and dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. But she was a muggle, and an orphan. And he was to find someone of good breeding, which she was most certainly nearly the exact opposite of. Then again, hardly any witch would even look at him these days, much less entertain a match. That brought him back to his father, stuck in Azkaban, still trying to control his life. He frowned as he felt the resentment grow in his chest.

"Hey," Mary said, tapping him on the side of the head as they sat down on the bus, "what's going on in here?"

Draco sighed through his nostrils and looked up at the handholds, waving with the movement of the bus.

"Just thinking how my life is complete shit," he said.

Mary nodded with a frown and put a hand on his thigh, warm through his jeans. That was the good thing about Mary, she didn't pry, she didn't try to tell him it wasn't that bad, or she had it worse. She was just there for him, and even though he knew it was impossible, he could almost trick himself into believing she understood.

They arrived back at Darren's after ten o'clock.

"Drake," Darren said as he entered, then he stopped, "bloody hell."

"What?" Draco asked.

"Last time I saw you, you could barely walk," Darren said, looking at him with shock.

"Looked worse than it was," Draco said, "I just took some painkillers, and the rest is makeup. Can't go scaring the kids now."

One look at the expression on Darren's face and Draco knew the dealer didn't believe a word he said, but apparently it didn't matter.

"You got the cash?" Darren asked.

"Yeah," Draco replied, pulling out the stack of muggle currency. He counted out enough to cover the taxi and another two hundred for whatever Darren was going to get him. Darren took the money, counted it himself, and pocketed it.

"I'll try to get it tomorrow-," Darren said.

"I invited Drake to Martin's party," Mary interrupted from the couch.

Darren turned to her and looked like he was about to chastise her, but then he just closed his eyes and sighed, then turned back to Draco.

"Okay, you can come, don't do anything stupid," he said, "You got a costume? Good. Meet up here around seven and then we'll head out."

"Alright, I'll leave this here then," Draco said, laying the pirate costume over the back of a chair. No way was he going to be seen wearing that garish thing in Diagon.

Draco returned home and checked on his mother, who slept soundly in her bed. The following day he awoke craving a hit, but he didn't have any, so he forced himself to eat an apple before heading to the orphanage, this time wearing the casual muggle clothing and trainers he'd bought the day before. The previous night, the paid staff had decorated the place with fake spider webs, pumpkins, plastic skeletons, and cardboard tombstones. In the morning, Pam, wearing a blue dress and a wig of long red hair, had them bobbing for apples and running through various races on the pitch. Some of the races saw childrens' legs tied together, some had them hopping in sacks, and some had them walking on their hands, their legs held up by a partner. It was honestly the most absurd thing Draco had ever seen, but the kids seemed to be having fun. In the afternoon, the staff ran a scavenger hunt, culminating in a haunted house in the assembly room. Draco's job was to sit at a booth underneath a hanging skeleton and distribute sweets whenever a group of children came by, which was simple enough, then he and Alan were instructed to don rubber masks and jump out to scare children as they walked by in the haunted house. The oddest thing about the whole experience was the peculiar lighting inside the haunted house. It was a strange purple light that made any white clothing glow in the darkness. Finally, the children, hyper on sugar, filtered into the cafeteria for dinner, and he and Alan teamed up to clear the haunted house, throwing most of the decorations back into storage.

"Hey Alan, you heading home after?" Draco asked.

Alan nodded.

"I got a favour to ask, mind heading over to Darren's with me tonight before you go home?" Draco asked.

"Oh, are we uh," Alan asked, holding his thumb and forefinger near his mouth.

Draco shook his head.

"Probably not," he said, "but I got mugged earlier on the way there, and I'm supposed to meet Darren and Mary tonight."

"Oh shit," Alan said, "what'd they take?"

"Cash. And the weed," Draco said, and Alan winced.

"Bugger," he said, "least you're alright. Yeah I'll go with you."

The two of them departed and hiked to Darren's apartment, making it there without incident, unless you counted the odd costumed individuals they passed on the way. When Draco entered the apartment, Darren was already dressed in a bright green long sleeved shirt and matching pants, both with dark haphazard question marks drawn across them in dark marker. A strip of purple cloth with holes cut for his eyes obscured his face.

"Riddle me this," he said, "what kept you?"

Draco shook his head.

"Party at the orphanage, clean-up took a while," Draco said.

"So glad I'm done with that shite," Darren said, handing Draco his pirate costume, "hurry up, we have time to swing by a pub before we go."

Draco changed in the loo, feeling a bit foolish as he donned the white shirt and its overly enthusiastic frills. The fake boots were a bit over the top as well, not to mention the overcoat. He shoved the toy pistol and sword through his belt, affixed the tricorn hat, gave himself a once over in the mirror, shook his head, and exited into the kitchen.

Mary stood up from the couch and only years of schooled indifference kept Draco's mouth closed. She wore dark boots covering her legs almost to her knees, and above that, a tight leather miniskirt. Her jacket, the one she'd worn when he first spoke with her on the playground, matched the skirt. Beneath that she wore only a lacy red and black patterned… something that left much of her upper chest open and exposed, and ended well above her navel. Draco had no idea what it was but it barely qualified as much more than an undergarment really. Dark eyeliner circled her eyes and a line of bright red dripped from the corner of her lip, and Draco realized she was supposed to be a vampire. She smiled at him, revealing fake fangs.

"Good, let's go," Darren said, grabbing a cane from behind the chair by the door and donning a green bowler hat. The three of them departed and Mary slipped her arm around Draco's as they walked. Darren led them several blocks to a pub, as proclaimed by the blue and red neon sign and arrow pointing to the entrance. They stepped inside, where it was standing room only, and pushed their way to the bar.

"First drink's free for anyone in costume," the bartender said, "what'll it be?"

"Tequila," Darren said.

The bartender set out a tray, poured three shots, and set out a shaker and some cut limes. Darren licked the back of his hand and poured the salt over it, Mary followed suit (staring at Draco as she slowly licked her hand), and Draco, not really knowing what was going on, mimicked them.

"Ready?" Darren said, "one, two, three!"

He licked the salt from his hand and downed the shot, and Draco struggled to keep up. The spirit was horrible, a mix of shoe polish and paint thinner that burned all the way down. He gagged and fought the urge to vomit.

"The lime, the lime!" Mary said.

Draco looked up with watering eyes to see Darren still sucking on the sour green fruit slice. He grabbed the last lime, jammed the fleshy part into his mouth, and bit down, sucking the juices out.

"Augh, that's just vile," Draco said once the gag reflex had passed.

Darren laughed.

"Another?" Darren asked.

The bartender poured another three shots, but they were interrupted by a voice behind them.

"Drake? Mary?" a female voice said, "nice costumes!"

Draco turned around to see Pam Baker, still in her bright red wig and blue dress from earlier in the day.

"Hi Pam!" Mary said, "what are you doing here?"

Pam gave her a dazzling smile.

"Having a drink, same as you of course. Seems like you guys are having fun," she said, "this is my husband, Michael."

She touched the elbow of the man standing next to her, and he turned to face them. Michael Baker was huge, standing at least a head taller than Draco. His thighs were like tree trunks and he wore blue trousers with a black brace over one knee. His white shirt left the front completely open, revealing a barrel chest and well-defined abs.

"Pleased to meet you," Draco said, extending a hand to shake. He resisted the urge to wince as his knuckles were nearly crushed in Michael's grip.

"Drake and Darren help out at the orphanage, and Mary was a resident until recently," Pam said.

"Ah, it's good you're helping out there," Michael said, "Macmillian's a real stand up guy."

Draco nodded, searching for something to say.

"Yeah he is," he said, "so what'd you do to your knee?"

"Rugby," Michael replied, "got another two weeks before the doctors clear me to play again, probably."

Draco nodded.

"Hey, look at the time," Darren said, "nice to see you Pam, Michael. C'mon guys, we've got to go."

He ushered Draco and Mary out the door.

"What's got into you Darren?" Mary asked.

"Look, it's just… nothing good can come of that conversation," Darren said.

"We were just talking. She wouldn't have said anything," Mary said.

"I don't care, it's not a good idea," Darren said, "catch up with her on your own time. Let's find a cab."

It took a few minutes but eventually they were able to hail a taxi from the street. Darren rode in the front and gave the address to the driver, while Draco and Mary sat in the back, Draco having to lay his sword and hat across his lap. Darren twisted around to face them.

"Okay, Drake, I know you're messed up from whatever accident you were in, but please try not to do or say anything stupid tonight," Darren said.

"Darren, would you relax?" Mary said.

Darren turned around and faced forward again, and Draco chanced a glance over at Mary to find her staring back at him. The streetlights reflected glitter off her chest and Draco's eyes flicked down for an instant.

"Costume looks good on you," Mary whispered, reaching over and running her fingers over the silver trim of his overcoat.

"I feel like a twat," Draco said.

Mary backhanded him lightly in the shoulder.

"Just take the bloody compliment," she said.

Draco smirked.

"Yours looks good too," he said.

"Bloody freezing though," she replied.

Draco resisted the urge to let his eyes wander down to her exposed navel and thighs again, and after a moment she turned to look out the window.

They rode for about twenty minutes and pulled up at a large house in the suburbs. Cars lined the street in both directions, and packed the long driveway. Several people milled about outside the house, smoking or drinking, or both. The three of them exited the taxi and walked up towards the house, the thumping bass audible even from a hundred feet away. The door was propped open, allowing people to freely move in and out. Draco estimated about a hundred were present already, most of them decked out in various costumes he didn't recognize. Many of them wore masks, either of the cloth or rubber variety. The inside of the house was spacious, upper middle class, with thick carpeting in most of the rooms, and clear line of sight from the front door to a back deck, lit by overhead floodlights. A small fence cordoned off the staircase, sending a clear signal the second story was off limits.

"Let's get some drinks," Darren said, leading them through the crowds to the kitchen. Draco heard distinct Irish accents, lots of Irish men and women. He looked around and suspected the three of them might have been the some of the only ones who weren't from the emerald isle. Actually, he wasn't really sure where Mary's family was from… was McKay an Irish name? Possibly.

In the kitchen, bottles lined the counter against one wall, while a large punch bowl and red plastic cups sat on the island in the centre of the room. Darren used the ladle to pour some red punch for each of them then took a sip. It was fruity and sweet, and Draco could barely taste a hint of alcohol.

"I'm going to try and find Martin O'Donnell, be back soon," Darren said.

Draco nodded to him, then let Mary lead him by the hand out to the rear deck, where several muggles played a game over a long table, tossing a small white ball back and forth. Others leaned against the railing and chatted, and the scent of charred meat reached his nostrils, courtesy of a large grill set up at the far end of the deck, next to a table filled with sausages, steak, and other meats.

"I just spotted someone I know," Mary said, putting a hand on his arm, "watch the game for a moment, I'll be right back."

"Wait…" Draco said, but she was gone, off the deck and into the back yard.

Draco sipped his drink and watched the game. It seemed relatively simple: take turns tossing the ball, and drink the beer in the cup when your opponent landed it inside. Draco wondered where Mary had gotten off to though. He stepped to the edge of the deck and spotted her in the yard beyond, chatting with rough looking fellow with a dark beard. He was taller than Draco, wore a chequered shirt and overalls, and carried a large axe. They talked a bit while Draco appreciated how Mary's leather skirt hugged her form. She passed some money to the lumberjack man and received a small bag in exchange, which she stuck into an inside jacket pocket. Another girl, this one a blonde wearing light translucent clothing and shimmering fairy wings, stomped up to the two and slid right between them, jabbing her finger into Mary's chest. Draco was too far away to hear the specifics but it was clear the blonde didn't like her. Mary gave her the two fingered salute as she walked away.

"Hey matey, don't think I've seen you here before?" someone said to Draco in a thick Irish accent. Draco turned to see a broad shouldered and clean-shaven dark-haired man, perhaps in his early thirties, sipping wine from a glass. He wasn't wearing a costume, instead sporting jeans and a green and white windbreaker with the Irish flag displayed prominently on the sleeve.

"Nope, first time," Draco said.

"Who'd ye come with, if ye don't mine me askin'?" the man asked.

"Darren Welch?" Draco replied, a sense of unease rising from his gut.

The man took a sip from his glass.

"Never heard of him, so I haven't," he said, "what's your name then?"

"Drake Malfoy," Draco replied.

"Never heard of you neither?" the man said, but just then Mary returned and latched on to Draco's arm.

"Hi Connor, this here's Drake, he's with me," she said.

In an instant, recognition lit up his face, and Connor's demeanour changed entirely. He smiled broadly at Mary.

"Oh my, little Mary McKay, all grown up is it?" he asked.

She smiled up at him.

"Aye, it's been a long time," she said with an Irish lilt Draco had never heard her use before.

"So it has," he said, "you here for anything special?"

"Stoppin' in to say hello, and me friend Darren's here to speak to Martin," she said.

"Alright alright, I'll make mention ye dropped by," he said, "enjoy the party will ye?"

"We will," Mary replied. Connor drained his glass and stepped over to the drinks table to pour himself another glass.

"C'mon, let's go inside," she said, shivering a bit, "I'm freezing."

They stepped into the kitchen, and then into a dimly lit den where a movie played on a large television, and several people sat on couches, chairs, or the carpet, drinking and chatting.

"How do you know these people again?" Draco asked.

"They're my brother's friends," Mary said.

Draco nodded.

"Listen Drake, I know you've been feeling a bit down lately, so I got us something that can help," she said, "it wasn't cheap, I've only done it once before, but it felt great."

"_This sounds almost exactly like the kind of stupid thing Darren warned against doing,_" Draco thought. His hesitation must have shown on his face because Mary grabbed his arm and looked up into his eyes.

"Do you trust me?" she asked. Reflexively he wanted to laugh, but Mary was the one muggle he'd spent the most time around, walking the city, asking questions of each other. He found that he did trust her, at least to not poison him, so he nodded.

"Don't worry about these guys," she said, "Darren and Bruno are friends, but I'm his sister, I'm blood. We'll be fine."

_That_ he understood. Plus, Mary was offering him free drugs… so why not?

Draco nodded.

"Alright, what do we do?" he asked.

"It's a pill, we swallow it," she said, "hold my drink."

She handed her cup to Draco then pulled her arms inside her leather jacket and faced the wall, so she could open the bag without anyone seeing. Picking up on what she was doing, Draco turned to make sure nobody was watching them. He noticed a somewhat older man, dark haired, perhaps mid 30's, with a goatee and wearing a red outfit and a matching wide brimmed hat, even his gloves were red. The man looked away when Draco spotted him, and something about him just seemed… off.

"Okay," Mary said, bringing Draco's attention back. She filled out the sleeves of her jacket again and traded Draco a small yellow pill for her cup.

"We'll both do it, and we'll have a great time, guaranteed," she said, almost vibrating with anticipation. She popped a pill into her mouth and Draco followed suit.

"Ready, one, two, three," she said, then tipped her cup back and washed down the pill, Draco right behind her. The fruity drink went down easily, but he supposed that was the whole point.

He looked around the room.

"I don't feel anything different," he said.

Mary smirked.

"Don't be cheeky," she said, "it could take a half an hour. Let's mingle a bit."

Mary led Draco by the arm to the kitchen, where several bowls of varying dips were laid out, along with crisps, carrots, broccoli, and several other vegetables Draco didn't quite get a good look at. Mary filled up both of their cups with water from the tap.

"Trust me, you're going to want this later," she said, handing him his cup.

They wandered through a dining room where several blokes played cards and smoked, and watched the game for a bit. Draco couldn't make heads or tails of what they were doing, only that it was less interesting than exploding snap. He started getting bored and pulled Mary into the adjacent living room. A few cream coloured couches and chairs sat around a glass coffee table, on top of which sat coasters supporting glasses, as well as a few glass decanters of what looked like spirits. The view of the front yard and street that would have been visible through the large windows was obscured by the reddish orange shades drawn across them. Music thumped out of several large speakers scattered along the edges of the room, and Draco could barely hear his own thoughts. A group of pale skinned costumed muggles danced to the beat near the speakers, some of them grinding on each other in a lewd fashion he'd never seen before. Draco glanced around and caught the red-clad man staring at him again from across the room. The man smiled slowly, then rubbed his forearm, right where Draco's Dark Mark was, then he tipped his wide brimmed hat and left the room, a large gold cross hung about his neck swinging around as he turned.

"Do you wanna dance?" Mary asked, but Draco shook his head. His mind was foggy, but that man's face was vaguely familiar. Where had he seen him before…? Then like a thunderbolt, it struck him. Slug Club, sixth year when he'd snuck in, the fucking vampire. Santari? San… Sanguini! What in Merlin's name was Sanguini the bloody vampire doing at a muggle Halloween party? Suddenly he didn't feel safe at all.

"We've got to go," Draco said.

"What? We've only just arrived," Mary said.

He looked down at her.

"I'm pretty sure that man in the red outfit is a vampire," Draco said.

Mary blinked.

"I'm the vampire. He was that Cardinal what's-his-face from-" Mary said.

"No Mary, I mean a real, suck your blood and leave you in a ditch, vampire," Draco said, grabbing her forearm, and scanning the room, "we need to go, now."

He didn't have anything with him that could hold off a vampire, and his magical blood would be like nectar to someone like Sanguini, and Merlin knew whether he was the only blood-sucker at the party.

"Are you tripping? What the fuck was in that pill?" Mary asked. He half-led, half-dragged her to the open front door and glanced back to the rear of the house.

"Oh, there's Darren and Martin," Mary said, waving to them.

Through the house, out the open back door, beyond the beer pong table, Darren stood with his cane and bowler hat under the floodlights next to a bald stocky man with a dark tattoo running up his neck, Martin O'Donnell, Draco presumed. Darren was in conversation with Martin and only nodded slightly at Mary as she waved. Then Sanguini, his costume lit up in almost glowing red in the floodlights, approached the duo and murmured something to O'Donnell. The bald man looked up and locked eyes with Draco while Darren just gave them a look that Draco strongly suspected was meant to convey 'I told you not to do anything stupid, you idiotic twat'.

"Yeah, time to go," Draco said, waving to the trio before beating a hasty retreat out the front door and down the front steps, tossing his cup into the bushes lining the front of the house. Mary nearly stumbled in her heeled boots and Draco steadied her arm, but he didn't break stride.

"Drake, slow down, where are we going?" she asked.

"Away from here," Draco replied, looking down towards the street. The street lights had halos around them, and his heart was racing, though he wasn't sure if it was from the stress of the magical world crashing into his probation like it just did or the drugs Mary had given him. Frankly, he didn't care.

"Taxi!" he yelled, raising a hand at one of the dark coloured cars that had just dropped off a few party goers. He walked quickly to the street, opened the door, and practically shoved Mary inside before turning to look up at the house. He breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't see Martin, Sanguini, or Darren as he ducked into the back seat and slammed the car door shut.

"Drive, London," he said, and the driver swung a U-turn, heading for the highway.

Draco turned around and looked out the back window until he couldn't see the house anymore, then sat down in his seat and gave Darren's apartment address to the driver.

"Drake, you okay?" Mary asked.

"Not really," Draco replied, "there was a bloody vampire there. Why the fuck was there a vampire at that party?"

Mary put a hand on his leg, and it sent an electric tingle straight up his spine.

"Drake, relax, I think you're just having a bad trip," Mary said, "maybe there was something else in that pill."

"No, Mary, you don't understand," Draco said, "I know him, he's a fucking vampire."

"Drake, there's no such thing as vampires," Mary said, her brows furrowing in growing agitation.

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but then he remembered. The Statute. Vampires were magical beings and couldn't be exposed to the muggles, even if they could mingle among them.

"Yeah, there's no such thing as vampires," he said quietly, then turned to look out the window. The street lights started trailing comet tails, and despite his unfortunate circumstances and the scare at the party, a sense of contentment and acceptance rose up within him, like all was right with the world. He looked over to Mary to see she had pulled her arms inside the sleeves of her jacket and repeatedly ran her hands up and around her exposed stomach.

"I think it's kicking in," she said, "how do you feel?"

"I feel…, happy, but not like happy. Happier than I've ever felt before," Draco said, "oh… this is the best stuff ever."

He was grinning like a fool but he didn't care, and Mary had a matching grin on her face. He hadn't felt this way in… well, ever. Growing up, he'd never wanted for anything except his father's approval, and all the candies and toys in the world couldn't make up for what he most craved. He'd failed to ally with Harry Potter, and forever after that, he'd been good, but never good enough. Anyone else's parents would have been proud their son earned the marks he did, earned a prefect badge, but he was chastised year after year for coming second to a mudblood. He'd become an accomplished Occlumens, repaired a Vanishing Cabinet on his own, and planned well enough to bring about the end of the great Albus Dumbledore. Still, it was never enough, and it never would be. None of that mattered now, because he was here, he was alive, and it had never felt so wonderful to breathe freely, with the burdens of his lineage and responsibilities vanished. He felt as if he could fly without a broom.

"Watch this," Mary said, and she ran her fingertips up the back of his hand, under the sleeve of his outfit and halfway up his forearm. Her touch was golden fire against his skin, and he inhaled as multicoloured fireworks went off in his skull. He opened his eyes to see a little smile on her face as she watched his reaction. With a small smirk of his own he reached out and ran his hand over her stomach as he'd seen her do to herself earlier. Mary let out a soft exhale, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back against the headrest. Her skin was warm against his hand, and the sensation of just running his hand over her stomach felt amazing.

"We're here," the driver said, interrupting the moment.

Draco paid and exited the cab, the chill air hitting him like silent snowfall, and he stopped and looked up at the large gibbous moon for a moment, admiring the perfect silver serenity, then followed Mary up the front stoop.

"Come upstairs for a bit," Mary said as she opened the cracked vestibule door.

Draco nodded.

"Alright," he said.

They held hands as they walked the steps, her thumb stroking the back of his hand, sending little shocks of electricity through him. Mary let them into Darren's apartment and flicked on the lights, and Draco closed the door behind them. The normally drab colours of the carpet and couch appeared bright and vibrant, and all the colours bled over into everything else.

Mary turned to look at him, the dark pupils of her eyes abnormally wide, and reached out a hand to cup his cheek, causing more fireworks to erupt.

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

Draco nodded, and Mary slowly untucked his frilly pirate shirt and reached her hands underneath it and around him to slide up his back beneath his shirt. He arched into her as she stepped into him, leaning her cheek against his shoulder; even in heels, the top of her head only came up to his lips. She started running her hands and arms up and down his back, and Draco couldn't help but let his breath catch. She turned her head slightly so he could hear her whisper.

"Drake… I like you," she whispered, "And.. it's not because you have money, you know that, right?"

"I don't have money, actually," he replied, "not anymore."

She pulled back slightly at that and gave him the now-familiar smirk, the drawn-on blood making her look slightly ridiculous, but all Draco could think of was how much he missed the contact. Tentatively, he reached around and into the warm air between her lower back and jacket, and ran his fingers lightly over the skin there. Mary gave a soft moan of pleasure at that and pressed herself into him, clutching his back tightly.

"Do you want to see my room?" she asked.

Draco nodded.

"Alright," he said.

She took his hand and led him through the hallway with two doors at the end, to the door on the right, into her bedroom. A queen-sized bed with a green comforter sat against one blue painted wall, with a night table and lamp at one end. A simple wooden desk and chair sat in the corner against the far wall, and a similarly styled wood dresser stood in the opposite corner from the desk. A closet with sliding doors took up the wall next to the door, and a black guitar case leaned against a wall, gathering dust. Two windows looked out onto the street, currently closed with curtains drawn. Mary walked around behind him and pulled his costume overcoat from his shoulders and threw it over the back of the chair, followed by her own jacket. Draco's eyes dropped down to her slim cream coloured upper body, only the black and red lace undergarment partially covering the swell of her breasts.

"Take your shoes off," she said as she lifted one boot onto the chair and zipped down the length before pulling it off and setting it on the ground under the desk. Draco dropped the fake sword and pistol on the ground, practically ripped off the fake leather boots, followed by the trainers underneath while she took her second boot off, his jeans now uncomfortably tight and constraining as he watched Mary undress in front of him. She padded over to him in stocking feet and embraced him again, running her hands up and down his back like she had before. Thoughts flashed through Draco's mind.

_She's a muggle._

_Are you planning to be celibate forever? Barely anyone in magical Britain will even talk to you, much less consider a match._

_But she's a muggle._

_She's cute, and she fancies you, and it's been over two years. _

_She's a muggle, filth, beneath you._

_Who would find out? _

_Father wanted me to find someone of good breeding. _

_Fuck Father, fuck what he wants. The old man is going to die in Azkaban. Look at that stomach, don't you want to know what the rest of her looks like?_

_You want this, Draco, you want it, and she wants it, and that's all that matters. _

Draco let Mary push him back onto the soft mattress, and she pressed her lithe body down atop him, smoothed his hair back, and pressed her lips to his. If the sensations he felt before were fireworks, this was like fiendfyre. She hmm'ed into his mouth, and instinct took over as Draco returned the kiss eagerly, tasting her mouth for the first time. He pushed himself back and fully onto the bed, drawing her with him, nestled between his legs. She moved from his lips and traced a line of kisses down his jawline to his neck, and Draco just looked up at the ceiling, unable to process the sensations he was feeling. She moved forward a bit more and sat up, causing her skirt to ride up, lifting one leg at a time to straddle his waist. She smirked down at him, her blood makeup hopelessly smeared. Mary grabbed the frills at the centre of his shirt and pulled hard, snapping the cheap buttons open, but her expression changed to shock and she gasped.

"Oh my god," she said.

She traced her finger diagonally down his chest, across his entire torso, nearly to his hip, where Potter had scarred him.

"Is this from the accident?" she asked.

Draco nodded.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked. Draco could feel the mood changing and he slipped his hands up under her arms to her shoulders and pulled her down atop him, relishing the sensation of her warm stomach and chest against his.

She took the hint and kissed his earlobe, starting a slow undulating grind with her hips and using her whole body to rub against his, and he responded in kind, rubbing his now rock-hard cock against her through the fabric of his jeans. He reached up and felt for a clasp on her top, but there wasn't one. She sat up, crossed her arms over her chest, and lifted the whole piece up and over her head, letting her pert breasts and hardened pink nipples fall free as she dropped the lacy fabric off the side of the bed. Now the first hint of shyness came as her hands instinctively went to cover herself, but she stopped them, leaving them in limbo somewhere around the top of her stomach. Her blue eyes watched his seriously and she swallowed as he drank in the sight of her.

"Mary," he whispered, pulling her down on top of him again and into another kiss. This time he felt her tongue probing, and he opened his mouth, granting her access and letting him explore hers at the same time. He'd never felt a kiss this exhilarating before, and though somewhere deep down he knew the drugs were responsible to some extent, his ability to care was utterly non-existent. She started fumbling with the button of his jeans, and he reached down to help, the two of them combining the efforts of hands, legs, and feet to somehow shuck them off without breaking the kiss. Her leather skirt had now completely ridden up, and she ground her hot sex almost directly onto his cock, separated only by a thin strip of fabric, sending him into another wave of mind-blowing sensation. They stayed like that for some time, grinding together, kissing mouths and necks, him palming her petite breasts and tweaking the hardened flesh of her nipples, causing her to gasp and give off soft little moans. Draco felt her knickers growing steadily wetter with every undulation until they were completely soaked through. He could feel the thin fabric of her panties straining as they came together, until finally he couldn't stand it any longer. He grabbed a fistful of her auburn hair at the back of her head, causing her to grunt and pull back. She panted, lips swollen and parted, eyes half-open with desire as she looked at him.

"Take them off," he said, and she nodded, rolling off him to shimmy out of her skirt and pull her panties off down and across her feet, tossing the last of her clothes onto the floor. Draco pulled off the sleeves of his shirt and she took a moment to admire his throbbing cock, already slightly damp with the juices that had previously soaked through. She leaned over and took his shaft in one hand to hold it steady, leaned over, and gave it a long lick from base to tip. His limbs seemingly gone on strike, Draco was helpless to do anything but moan and lay his head back on the pillow. She threw her leg over to straddle him again but held herself up while she kissed him, just barely letting the tips of her breasts caress his chest. The coldness of their distance made Draco groan in frustration and he grabbed the cool flesh of her arse and pulled it down towards him. She ground herself into him again, resuming their previous action, only this time with no barrier, her hot wetness sliding directly against his shaft. Mary pushed herself up on her elbows, her breaths coming shorter now, eyes closed. Draco looked down at her breasts swaying in time to their motions as Mary's breath stuttered; she bit her lip and ground her soft wet folds against his hardness. Her limbs quivered as she grunted softly and Draco felt even more wetness dripping against his groin and dripping onto the sheets. Mary let off a few deep breaths and opened her eyes to look at Draco and ground her hips a few more times against him, sliding forward a bit more with each rocking motion until when she slid back down, the head of his cock slipped inside her. She was so incredibly warm and wet, and Draco couldn't help but thrust up into her tightness, eliciting a wince and a moan from her.

"Slowly," she whispered, when he wanted to do anything but. She started rocking again, just taking the tip of him into her at first. He started easing his length into her a little bit more with each thrust, until he was buried to the hilt. They lay like that for a moment, not moving, Draco on the edge of erupting, yet relishing the feel of being fully enveloped by her and not wanting this feeling to pass just yet. Then she started again, sliding herself slowly up and down his shaft, increasing tempo, and he kept pace. He put his hands on her hips while she caressed his chest, looking down at him. Draco felt his climax drawing closer and he thought about slowing down again, but Mary kept going.

"Don't stop," she said, and those two words alone nearly drove him over the edge.

She leaned over him again and pumped her hips faster, coaxing him to finish, the two of them reaching a frantic pace until his vision tunnelled and he thrust as deep as he could, pumping his hot seed into her. From the expression of wonder and the small smile that spread across her face, he knew she felt it. Finally, when the last convulsion ended, she lay her head down on his chest with him still inside of her.

"Wow," she said, and he couldn't help but agree.

They lay like that for a few minutes, their mingled fluids dripping out of her, across him, and onto the sheets, until he grew soft and she started getting cold, then they ducked under the covers. He held Mary on his right side with one arm, while she leaned her head against his shoulder and threw a leg over his, the wetness of their lovemaking cool against his thigh. Basking in the afterglow with her finger tracing patterns across his chest, Draco didn't even mind smell of their combined scents; in fact, he felt nothing but utter joy and contentment. He thought he ought to feel disgusted with himself, but in reality, he felt an amazing connection with Mary, unique from anything he'd felt before. Maybe it was still the drugs. He didn't care, sex with Mary was honestly the best thing that had happened to him this year. He slid his hand up her stomach to her chest and traced circles with his finger around her areola, until the flesh crinkled again as her nipple responded to his touch.

"Mmmm," she said, eyes half closed, "don't start something you can't finish."

She reached down and with a feather touch, walked her fingers up his thigh until she found his flaccid manhood and started rubbing a finger up and down the underside and around the head. Draco felt himself twitch and start to harden again, until he was stiff enough for Mary to start stroking her hand up and down his length. He kept playing with her nipple until her breath started coming heavier. Draco felt her squirming and manoeuvring her other hand until she could reach between her own legs, but to Draco, that didn't make any sense at all. He rolled her over onto her back and was rewarded by Mary spreading her legs wide for him. She reached down and gripped his shaft to position him against her entrance and nodded. This time he slipped in easily in one long stroke, and they settled into a slow, relaxed rhythm. Mary started giving off a little moan at every thrust, and Draco looked down at his cock sliding in and out of her, the sight and sounds of what they were doing turning him on even more. As Draco started feeling a second climax building, Mary's breaths and cries grew more insistent, until she was shuddering beneath him and clenched around him like a vice. When the last shudder had finished and she'd loosened up a bit, she pulled him down closer to her.

Draco started up again, watching how her breasts bounced with each thrust, and Mary pulled her knees up to slightly change the angle.

"I want to feel you finish inside me again," she whispered as she lifted her legs further to lock her ankles behind his back.

That did it, and pounded into her as he came again, almost painfully this time as there wasn't really much left to pump into her. They collapsed together in a tangle of limbs and ended up with Draco hugging her from behind, one hand cupping a breast and the other beneath her pillow, his softening cock pressed against the smooth, pale skin of her arse. He'd never felt such a connection to anyone, and idly wondered if this was what it felt like to be in love. Mary fell asleep first but Draco stayed awake a bit longer, enjoying the sensation of her chest rising and falling against his hand, before he too drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Draco peeled his eyes open the next morning to see the sun filtering around the blinds covering the windows. His skull felt like it was about to crack in half, and his jaw ached fiercely. He tried to swallow but there was no spit, and his whole body felt spent and sore. He realized he was still cuddling Mary and last night's activities came rushing back to him. He scrambled back and out of the bed, staring down at her naked back while she slept. The previous night's sense of divine happiness and contentment had fled, leaving only terror and loathing in its place. He'd fucked a muggle. What in Merlin's name was wrong with him?

_Shit!_

Today was Sunday. He had to report for inspection with Clark, who would like nothing more than to send him to Azkaban. Would probably jerk off to it, come to think. Draco cast about the room for his watch, held it up to the light, and sighed in relief when he saw he hadn't missed his appointment. Then he remembered he couldn't apparate. He yanked his trousers on and tossed the ruined pirate shirt aside before slamming his feet into his trainers.

"Drake, where are you going?" Mary asked sleepily.

"Inspection," he said, "I have to report to my probation officer, or I'm fucked."

He heard her nodding as she sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest.

"Drake, last night…" she said.

"_Last night was a bloody mistake, it should never have happened," _Draco thought to himself as he stopped halfway through tying his shoe. Bile rose in his throat and he resisted the urge to vomit.

"Drake, look at me," Mary said.

Draco looked up at her and instead of seeing a filthy muggle, he saw Mary McKay, the only person he'd shared a meaningful conversation with in the past two months, who'd taught him everything he knew about the muggle world, who'd smoked with him and laughed with him, who'd cleaned his cuts with alcohol, who'd bought him illegal drugs to try and make him feel better, because she was the only one in the world who'd noticed or cared he was coming apart at the seams, who'd opened herself to him and invited him to her bed. Mary, whose fair face and sky-blue eyes now wore such an expression of vulnerability he couldn't bear to tell her the truth that they could never truly be together, because he was a coward.

Draco stepped to her and kissed her on the forehead, smoothing back her dishevelled hair as he pulled away.

"Last night was amazing," he said, "do you have any more of those pills?"

She smirked at him, the vulnerability gone, hidden again.

"Yes but they won't work again right away," she said, "it'll take a few days, and you'll feel like shite until you recover."

"_That would explain the hangover to end all hangovers I'm feeling right now," _Draco thought.

He nodded and finished tying his shoes, mentally running through what he had to do and how long each leg of his trip would take.

"I've got to go," he said.

Mary took a deep breath.

"I'll see you soon," she said.

"See you," Draco said. He felt like he should probably say something else but he had no idea what, so he left the room, shirtless, and closed the door behind him. He paused in the hallway to gather himself. He really was a piece of shit. He walked quickly to the kitchen and downed a cup of water they'd poured the night before but never drank, and pulled yesterday's shirt over his head. He was on his way to the apartment door when Darren emerged from the hallway, looked at Draco, looked back down the hallway towards Mary's room, then back to Draco.

"You're here," Darren said, "good news, I managed to get your stuff."

"Keep it for now," Draco said, "I'll come by later this week, right now I've got to go."

"Hang on," Darren said, stepping in front of the apartment door and blocking Draco's exit, "two things."

"Last night at the party, that guy in red, Martin O'Donnell's associate, called you a 'special guest'," Darren said, "and then you took off. Care to explain?"

Draco shook his head.

"Look, I really don't have time for this, but yeah I know him, or at least I know of him," Draco said, "I left because I don't want to be anywhere near that guy, and neither should you."

Darren narrowed his eyes, seemingly not satisfied, but not willing to press the point.

"Fine," he said, "second thing. Look… Mary's a big girl, she can make her own decisions-"

Draco took a breath to interrupt but Darren held up a hand to forestall him.

"If you hurt her, if she tells Bruno, when he gets out, he will fucking flay you alive," Darren said, "fair warning."

Draco nodded, and Darren stepped away from the door and towards the kitchen. Draco yanked the door open and ran down the steps two at a time, his inner thighs sore from the previous night's activities. He burst out onto the street and into the crisp morning air. Birds took off from a nearby tree, chirping at the disruption. Draco turned and started jogging, but before long his breath became laboured, and he had a stitch in his side.

"_Fucking pathetic, I'm so bloody out of shape,_" he thought.

Mercifully, he flagged a taxi down on the street and took it the rest of the way to the Leaky Cauldron. He entered Diagon Alley with twelve minutes to spare, and sprinted to the public floo.

"Malfoy Manor!" he shouted, tossing the powder and jumping through the fireplace. He landed at the manor and sprinted up the grand staircase and down the hall to his room, where he opened the dresser drawer and scooped the remains of his wand into his hand. Draco turned and yanked the closet door open to grab the nearest robe, throwing it on over his muggle clothing, then shoving the pieces of his shattered wand inside a pocket. Like a whirlwind, he was out the door and back down the steps and to the floo again.

"Ministry of Magic!" he said with four minutes to go.

Draco sprinted through the nearly deserted Atrium to the reception desk.

"Drake… err, Draco Malfoy, wand inspection," he said, panting with exertion.

The receptionist, a balding pudgy fellow, consulted a schedule, nodded, and issued Draco a special visitor's pass indicating he was allowed to keep his wand. Draco ran to the lift and rode it to level 2, pushing the doors open as soon as he arrived. He ran the length of the hallway to the interview rooms and burst in with less than ten seconds to spare.

"Draco Malfoy, room 1," the same bored receptionist called as she filed her nails.

Draco tried to steady his breathing, straightened his robes, and ran his fingers through his hair a few times as he entered the interrogation room to find Brandon Clark already waiting for him.

"Cutting it a bit close, aren't we?" Clark said as Draco sat down, still breathing hard, "you don't look so well. Don't smell so well either."

"Maybe I just _*pant*_ don't like wasting time _*pant*_ waiting for someone to call my name," Draco said.

"Right," Clark said, "out with your wand, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco pulled the broken pieces of his wand out and laid them on the table.

Clark looked up at him.

"Is this some kind of joke, think you're being funny?" he asked.

Draco shook his head.

"I'm sure you'll be chuffed to know I was mugged by muggles," Draco said, "not only did I not cast any Dark spells, I didn't cast any spells at all. They robbed me of everything I had, then broke my wand for fun."

Clark narrowed his eyes at Draco and arranged the wood pieces so they almost fit together.

"_Priori Incantatem,_" he said, but only a garbled mess of mist came out of the broken wand.

He looked at Draco suspiciously, no doubt wondering if Draco could have cast a Dark spell, then broken his own wand to throw off the inspection. It didn't matter, Draco was telling the truth. He'd testify under veritaserum if he had to. Apparently, Clark came to the same conclusion, because he threw back his head and started laughing.

"How pathetic do you have to be to lose your wand to a few muggles?" he asked, "as pathetic as Draco Malfoy."

He roared again at his own (terrible) joke while Draco sat there and took it, because what else could he do? Clark calmed himself down, but he couldn't help grinning.

"You're not allowed to have an alternate," Clarke said almost gleefully, "doing so would violate the terms of the probation."

That was patently ridiculous, he was a wizard for Merlin's sake!

"You can't expect me to go the next _four months_ without a wand," Draco said.

"It's in the terms, which you signed yourself," Clark said with an evil smile, "do we need to revisit them?"

"That was only because it was assumed I already had a… never mind," Draco said with a sigh, realizing he wasn't going to convince Clark.

"The way I see it, having a wand while hanging around muggles is just a Statute breach waiting to happen anyway," Clark said, "so you're actually fortunate to not have a wand. Think about it, you'll be just like one of them."

Draco pursed his lips, not rising to the bait once again.

"Looks like we're done here," Clark said, sweeping the fragments of Draco's wand to the floor, "don't forget to pick up your trash before you leave."

Draco considered leaving the pieces on the ground, but decided he'd rather have them, if just for nostalgia purposes. He felt Clark's eyes on him as he bent over to pick up the pieces of his wand, then he turned and swept out the door. Draco returned to the atrium at a less frantic pace and deposited his visitor pass, then walked back to the floo to head home. With the adrenaline of his mad dash to make his appointment wearing off, the melancholy and despair of the previous weeks returned tenfold, as if his spirit were paying back a debt with goblin levels of interest for the loan of happiness he'd taken out the night before. It felt like a dementor was breathing down his neck, and Draco resolved to get utterly smashed on firewhiskey and then pass out when he returned home, drug hangover be damned.

Draco stepped out of the floo to find his mother, standing and dressed in proper wizarding robes of deep blue for once, waiting for him, wand in hand.

"Mother," he said apprehensively.

"Draco, where's the gold," she asked.

"What gold?" he replied.

Narcissa hit him in the arm with a stinging hex.

"Ow!" Draco said, wringing his arm.

"The allowance gold from the Ministry," she said, "I went to pay the delivery owl for potions yesterday, and there. Was. No. Gold!"

Her voice steadily grew in volume until it around the room, her last few words punctuated with more stinging hexes. Draco twisted and dodged to try and avoid them, mostly unsuccessfully.

"_Flagello!_" she shouted, and with a loud _*crack*_ Draco's shoulder was struck by an invisible whip. He was pretty sure she'd drawn blood with that one. One look at his mother's crazed expression and Draco decided discretion was the better part of valour. He ducked around another pair of stinging hexes and fled from the room. She chased him through several rooms and Draco overturned furniture and slammed doors to at least slow her down. If he could get out of the Manor, she wouldn't be able to follow. He made it as far as the drawing room and was about to open the door at the far side when she caught him.

"_Colloportus!_"

The door locked itself and Draco turned his back to it to face his mother with wide eyes.

"_Excorio!_" Narcissa shouted with a snap and flick of her wand. Draco ducked the dark blue flaying curse and covered his head as splinters and shavings of wood from the door rained down on him. That had been aimed at his face.

"Mother!" he said incredulously.

"Don't 'Mother' me," Narcissa said as she advanced across the room, "that's just a fraction of the hell I've been through the last day and a half without my potions. _Accio wand!_"

The pieces of Draco's wand flew from his pocket and bounced off Narcissa's robe, falling to her feet. Her expression immediately turned from fury to shock as she stared at the broken fragments on the ground, then sympathy as she looked to Draco.

"What happened to your wand?" she whispered.

"They broke it," he replied.

"The Ministry broke your wand?" Narcissa asked.

Draco fell to his knees and the weight of what had happened crashed over him again. Perhaps it was the aftermath of whatever he'd taken the night before, but full force of their spectacular fall from grace obliterated what little shreds of his ingrained stoicism remained.

"Mother," he said, looking up at her, looking for comfort. Was he being emotionally manipulative? Yes, but at that moment, he didn't care, he just wanted to make the pain stop, or at least blunt it somehow. Narcissa dropped her wand and enveloped her son tightly.

"Muggles broke it, when they robbed me," he said, sobbing into her shoulder and hating himself for it.

He quickly stifled the worst of his tears.

"They got me by surprise," he said, "I should have been more careful, then I could have fought them."

"Shh, shh," Draco's mother said as she stroked his back, "it wasn't your fault, Draco, it was those muggles. Violent. Uncivilized. Barely even human."

Slowly, he began to feel the slightest bit better, and a bit embarrassed that at eighteen years of age he needed to be comforted by his mother. He rose to his feet and helped Narcissa up as well, and he saw that her eyes were wet. For a brief moment of insanity, he almost considered telling her of the revolting thing he'd done the night before. He imagined her reaction and immediately buried the secret deep down within him. No one could know, ever.

"There is a little more gold," he said, "I'll put it in Father's study so you can pay the owl tomorrow."

The look of relief which washed over her face was almost embarrassing.

"Mother, I intend to drink myself into oblivion today," he continued, his tone of voice and cadence falling back into the manners drilled into him for his entire life, "would you care to join me?"

Narcissa half smiled, half laughed.

"I would," she said in her formal hostess voice, "shall I select the vintage?"

"By all means," Draco replied. Narcissa retrieved her wand and departed for the cellar, while Draco walked to one side of the room where a portrait of his great-grandfather Septimus Malfoy hung, just above a shield bearing the Malfoy coat of arms. His ancestor looked down on him, superiority and confidence combining for an almost regal stature.

"My wand is broken, we have abandoned our allies, our name is sullied, and our fortune is confiscated," Draco said, "I've already started selling heirlooms for gold. And I don't even care anymore."

The portrait stared down at him silently and imperiously, not even dignifying his words with a response. Draco's eyes traced over the family crest on the shield. Would he be the last Lord Malfoy, a noble line stretching back nearly ten centuries ending with him? It certainly seemed like a strong possibility. He walked to a couch near the centre of the room and sat down, looking at the floor, despondency rising again. A spatter and smear of brown decorated the stones between his feet. Dirty blood, Hermione Granger's, from when he'd watched aunt Bellatrix carve her arm up earlier that year. Whatever his and Granger's differences had been prior to that day, nobody deserved to have his aunt unleashed on them like that. The blood from the cursed dagger wouldn't come out from the stone floor and his mother hadn't covered it with a carpet for Merlin knew what reason. So he looked at it, and it looked back at him, accusingly, because he was a coward, and never good enough when it counted. Mercifully, his mother returned with several bottles and glasses, and he set about eliminating his self-loathing by destroying his mind's ability to form any kind of coherent thought at all.

After several glasses, both he and his mother were sat on a couch, far closer to utterly sloshed than irresponsibly drunk.

"I love your father, you know," she slurred, looking down into her glass, "have you ever been in love?"

"No, of course not," she muttered, not giving him a chance to respond, "how could you have, what with everything going on."

She looked at him, despair written on her features, then down at the floor again.

"One day when you fall in love with some lucky witch, you'll understand," she said, "you'll understand why I can't bear the thought of him in that horrible place."

She looked up again and Draco saw tears streaking her cheeks. His mother was crying, openly.

"I can't even tell him," she said, "that's why I ask you to go. We should have had another eighty years together, but instead, the next time I see him will probably be in a casket."

"It's once a month, Draco," she said, "please…"

Draco closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. Was his mother intentionally trying to guilt him into going? It was difficult to say. In the end, he figured it didn't really matter. If she felt strongly enough to cry in front of him, then it truly was important to her.

"I'll go," he said, "I'll go."


	12. Chapter 12

Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Chapter 12

Harry knelt down and listened.

"_Hominem Revelio_," he whispered, but he only saw Tammy, Elizabeth, Ron, himself, and of course Mackenzie, hovering above the obstacle course. They made up a four-person team tasked with infiltrating the obstacle course maze and apprehending Matt and Shawn. After weeks of drilling and practicing together, he and Ron had all but caught up physically with Elizabeth, Tammy, and Shawn, but this was Harry's first try leading a team.

He looked over to the others and shook his head.

"Not human, transfigured, maybe," Tammy whispered, "Shawn likes to do that."

Harry and Ron nodded.

Harry led them forward through the maze, keeping his wand out and shield up. He kept his eyes peeled for anything which looked out of place. Walls of rough grey stone, about eight feet tall, formed the barriers of the enchanted maze. It repaired itself and changed whenever they needed it to, so the maze was never the same from exercise to exercise. As the quartet moved forward, the path widened enough for them to walk two abreast, and Ron, his robes still a bit too short, moved up next to him. Just up ahead, Harry spied a corner of the wall with a slight bulge halfway up. He nudged Ron, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Harry kept walking, and when they were almost past Ron muttered a _Revelio_ spell, hitting the bulging section of wall. The corner broke off and twisted and contorted, resolving into the huge form of Matt Wilson. The big man immediately rolled forward and jerked his wand upwards, pulling up a section of earth to act as a barrier against the expected barrage of spells.

Tammy reacted quickly, transfiguring the earth into ice.

"_Bombarda!_" Ron said.

By the time Ron finished his incantation, Harry was already midway through a wordless banishing spell.

The exploding charm shattered the ice and Harry's _depulso_ sent shards flying backwards at Matt, who shielded to protect himself. Glittering pieces of ice tinkled off the walls and to the ground. Almost as one, Ron and Harry split up, with Ron going left and Harry going right. Matt tried to retreat down the corridor to keep them in front of him, but Ron and Harry kept pace on either side of the large man. Ron unleashed a steady stream of wordless stunners, cutters, and bludgeoning hexes to keep Matt from trying anything offensive, while Harry hammered his shield with full-strength stunners, leg locking jinxes, and full body binds. In about three seconds it was clear Matt was overmatched, and he dropped his shield, shouldering straight through a bludgeoner from Ron with a grunt, trying to get close enough to use his size to his advantage. Harry wrapped him up from behind with a wordless _incarcerous_, then disarmed him.

"Yield," Matt said, surrendering.

Harry looked back to see the two girls lying on the ground, unconscious.

"Bollocks," he said, "Ron, did you see Shawn?"

Ron shook his head. Harry cast another detection charm but once again didn't reveal anything. Harry growled. He levitated the fallen ice shards and sent them hurtling back over the girls and down the passage, with no luck. He and Ron cautiously stepped back to where Tammy and Elizabeth's prone forms lay, shoes crunching on the bits of ice. Harry felt a bit of pressure on his shield and Ron dropped like a sack of potatoes next to him, but Harry was able to spin and block the next spell, aimed right at him from his invisible opponent. Harry saw just a hint of distortion from Shawn's disillusionment and placed his _revelio_ perfectly, causing a dark spray to fizzle off, revealing the smirking form of Shawn Davis.

"Three down Potter, not so great," Shawn said.

Harry made a grab for Shawn's wand arm but his opponent danced away, firing off a pair of leg locking jinxes interspersed with a stunner. Harry reacted almost entirely on instinct, dodging all three spells and merely lifting a foot off the ground for the last one. For all he appreciated the cat and mouse training as necessary for infiltrating a potential Death Eater's hideout, he much preferred a straight up duel such as this. The two traded jinxes and hexes for a moment, until Shawn skipped back a step.

"_Incendio,_" he said.

"_So that's how it is_," Harry thought.

He focused a wordless _protego_ at the tip of his wand and twisted his arm to catch it at just the right angle to deflect it straight back at Shawn. Not expected the near instant reversal, Shawn didn't have time to put up a shield and caught his own fire spell on the forearm, setting his robes ablaze.

"Whoa!" Shawn said, shielding at the same time as he shook his arm to try and douse the flames.

Harry pressed the advantage, blasting the walls on either side of Shawn to distract him with showering debris while he lined up a powerful stunner straight down the middle. With his attention and shield spread wide, Shawn's _protego_ only blunted Harry's _stupefy_, and a weak red beam hit the older trainee in the chest, sending him to the ground.

"_Accio,_" Harry said, summoning Shawn's wand.

"_Aguamenti,_" he added, to douse what remained of the flames.

Shawn sputtered and sat up as the stream of water woke him up from the weak stunner.

"Good one Potter," Mackenzie said from above. He drifted down and revived Ron and Matt, while Harry _rennervated_ Elizabeth and Tammy.

"Alright, what did you do wrong?" Mackenzie asked.

Harry thought back to the start of the fight.

"Shawn was able to take both Tammy and Elizabeth down without us noticing, because we were focused on Matt," Harry said.

"Sorry Harry," Tammy said.

Harry shook his head.

"No, I should have had us closer together, or identified someone to watch our back and check for disillusionment," Harry said.

Mackenzie nodded and Harry turned to Wilson.

"And… Matt did you make a purposefully bad transfiguration to draw our attention?" Harry asked.

"No, he's just not very good at it," Shawn replied loudly, "so I asked him to be bait. Heck of a blasting curse you've got there Potter, my ears're still ringing."

Harry nodded and shrugged at Shawn.

"And Shawn was able to take Ron down by pushing his wand through our shields while disillusioned," Harry said, "one of us should have been focusing on detection and revealing spells, rather than both of us shielding."

Mackenzie nodded.

"It was a shield breaker on the tip," Mackenzie said, "not bad for your first mock team lead Potter. Alright, seeing as it's a national holiday, you have the evening off, but I expect you ready to go again at noon tomorrow."

They saluted to Mackenzie, who flew off in the direction of the buildings. The six trainees slowly made their way out of the maze towards the barracks.

"That was some reversal Potter," Shawn said, "where'd you learn to do that?"

"Dunno. It was so fast I just kind of reacted on instinct," Harry said.

"I missed it, what'd he do?" Elizabeth asked.

"Deflected my _incendio_ right back at me," Shawn said, "dead centre too. Definitely wasn't expecting that. You won't get me with that one next time."

Harry grinned.

"Looking forward to it," Harry said, "How did you hold a shield-breaker on your wand invisibly?"

"Practice," Shawn replied, "lots of it. Handy trick though."

Harry nodded, he could definitely see the benefit to learning something like that. The more he learned, the more he realized duelling was a test of wits, knowledge, and speed. If you knew a spell your opponent didn't, that gave you just as much of an advantage as being faster or more powerful than them, if not more. At his core, he started to better understand why Voldemort had scoured the ends of the earth for obscure magical spells and rituals. Even now, he could feel the pull within himself to go off and find the hidden secrets, but he pushed the urge down.

"_My place is here, with my family,_" he thought.

They reached the barracks and the four older trainees discussed which party or get-together they planned to attend for the evening as they took turns showering. It was the first Halloween since Voldemort's second defeat and Harry supposed they should be happy and celebratory; it was why they'd fought, after all. Personally, he definitely didn't want to be a part of any gathering; even the mere thought of all the attention, the millions of questions, the congratulations and thank-yous was already trying for him. He sat down on his bed and rolled his wand between his fingers.

"Harry, what are you going to do?" Matt asked.

"Think I'm just going to stay here," Harry replied. The conversation around him died.

"You're not going to celebrate?" Tammy asked, momentarily forgetting about the outfits she currently held, one in each hand.

Harry pursed his lips; he hated this conversation.

"Well it's not really much of a celebration for him, is it?" Ron asked.

Harry silently thanked Ron.

Shawn winced.

"Sorry Harry," Tammy said.

Harry sensed the mood darkening and that was the last thing he wanted.

"Look, you should go celebrate," Harry said, "it's an important day and honestly how often does Mackenzie give us the night off?"

"What are you doing then, Ron?" Tammy asked.

"I'm going to stay with Harry," Ron said, "plus, it's bloody Halloween."

The four other trainees looked confused for a moment and Ron took it upon himself to explain.

"More often than not, something happens on Halloween," Ron said, "First year, someone let a mountain troll into the school and we ended up fighting it."

Harry thought he saw flickers of recognition on Shawn and Matt's faces.

"Second year, someone opened the Chamber of Secrets and everyone started getting petrified," Ron continued, "third year, Sirius Black showed up at the school-"

"Turned out he was innocent all along but at the time it was pretty stressful," Harry said.

"Something almost always happens on Halloween," Ron said, "so yeah… I'm going to stay here."

Tammy and Shawn exchanged glances.

"I'm staying too," Tammy said, "just in case."

The others nodded their agreement.

"Whatever happens this year, if anything happens this year, we'll take care of it together," Matt said.

"While we're waiting," Shawn said, "Weasley, are you planning on acquiring robes that fit prior to the trials, or is this part of some master plan to distract the judges?"

Ron muttered something under his breath.

"Not my fault they keep getting the wrong size," Ron said, "I must've filled out the forms three times now."

"Stephanie was really good," Tammy said, replacing the dresses back into her trunk, "not sure why they got rid of her, this new admin is complete rubbish."

Just then, a silvery fox patronus dropped through the roof and turned to face Shawn. Harry felt the hairs go up on the back of his neck, and everyone held their breath.

"Shawn, there's been an attack in Diagon Alley, gather the other trainees at the barracks and stand by for further instructions," it said in Mackenzie's voice. The fox winked out of existence and everyone froze for a moment.

"Bloody Halloween," Ron muttered.

All notions of celebration banished, the trainees changed back into their Auror robes and holstered their wands. An uneasy quiet fell over the barracks, and Harry sat on his trunk, trying unsuccessfully to let off some nervous energy by bouncing his leg. He felt something warm against his thigh, and looked down for a moment, then sat bolt upright, pulling a silver sickle from his pocket. It nearly burned his hand as he read the inscription on the side…

_HELP!_

"Harry?" Ron asked.

"Andromeda's in trouble, and Teddy," Harry said.

He pulled his wand and nearly apparated on the spot but Ron grabbed his arm.

"Wait, take two with you, and I'll take two with me," Ron said, "that is, if you're all coming."

The other four trainees exchanged glances and nodded.

Harry paused. He wouldn't be able to don the invisibility cloak around the others, but having four more wands with him could make the difference between life and death.

He nodded once.

"The trail leading from the road to the cottage," Harry told Ron.

Ron nodded.

"Grab on everyone," Harry said.

Matt and Elizabeth each grabbed Harry's arm, while Tammy and Shawn grabbed Ron's.

Harry apparated with the two passengers and the journey seemed to take slightly longer, and when they landed both Matt and Elizabeth looked a bit out of sorts. An eerie green glow filtered down through the nearly bare trees, illuminating everyone's faces in a foreboding light. Ron appeared right after them and Harry looked up at the unmistakeable image in the air above where the cottage stood, a glowing skull and snake. Just barely audible over the groaning of the wind, a baby's cries could be heard from within the cottage.

"Oh shit," Shawn whispered, staring up with wide eyes at the Dark Mark emblazoned across the night sky. He swallowed audibly.

"_Expecto Patronum,_" Ron said, summoning his terrier, "Find Mackenzie, tell him the Dark Mark is above Andromeda Tonks' house, at least one survivor inside, send backup."

Ron's patronus shot up into the air, and Harry looked around to see all of the others staring back at him.

"Alright, we stay hidden, move closer, see what we can find," Harry said. Teddy was still alive, which meant that whoever was inside with them was probably still there.

The six of them disillusioned themselves and crept closer. When they neared the edge of the woods, still twenty feet from the cottage, Harry dropped his invisibility and held up a hand for the others to stop. The front door of the cottage stood wide open, but the interior was dark. Teddy continued to scream his lungs out from inside, cries of fear and distress.

"It's a trap," Ron's voice said, "Teddy's bait. Harry, don't fall for it."

Harry nodded, then heard a light muttering to his right.

"Wards are still up," Shawn whispered.

"_What? How?" _Harry thought, but it didn't matter. Whoever was inside had found a way past the new blood wards.

"Alright, here's the plan," Harry said, "I'm keyed to the wards, so you make a ruckus out here, and I'll going to sneak around back and go through the rear door."

"No way Harry-" Ron said, but just then Harry felt the tell-tale tingle of a _hominem revelio_ spell wash over him.

"POTTER!" a male voice from inside the cottage shouted, "I know you're out there. Door's open, won't you come in? I just want to have a little chat!"

Harry felt a vice grip his chest.

"No Harry don't! it's a-" Andromeda's voice shouted, followed by a muttered spell from the Death Eater, then silence.

"I only need one hostage Potter," the Death Eater shouted, "don't make me hurt them any worse than I already have!"

Harry hesitated, then started to walk towards the cottage but Ron grabbed his arm.

"Ron let go. Try to take down the wards," Harry said.

"At least try to stall him a little bit," Ron said.

A ball of incandescent light shot up into the sky, followed by a pulse of blue magic from the door of the cottage. The forest lit up as bright as day, and the disillusionment fizzled off of everyone in a dark spray. Harry looked around at the other trainees as they gripped their wands tightly, terror written all over their faces. He looked up at the cottage, unable to see past the threshold of the open door, at a loss for what they could do.

"Time's up Potter," the voice said. A blasting curse shot out of the open door and shattered a tree next to them. The six of them returned spellfire as one but every spell merely splashed against the blood wards, causing the shields which protected the home to glow blue.

"_Diffindo!_" came the call from inside the cottage.

Branches and leaves fell down atop them with a cracking, snapping sound. A glowing rope appeared and dragged a particularly large bough down and directed it straight at Harry, but Ron shoved him out of the way, getting clipped in the shoulder for his effort and dropping his wand.

"_Pondus incremen_," the hidden Death Eater said, increasing the weight of the branch and pinning Ron, who grunted as the branch started crushing him, "_Depulso maxima._"

All the trainees except Harry went flying away with grunts and shouts, tossed like dolls to crash against tree trunks or the forest ground. Only Harry's shield managed to hold, barely, and even through that the banishing spell forced him back, his feet sliding through undergrowth, leaving Ron exposed and trapped, gasping for breath against the crush of the magically heavier branch.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

A split-second passed as nothing happened, and time seemed to slow to a crawl as Harry caught a glimpse of the Death Eater, arm extended out of the open front door, lit up by the now familiar green flash of light. The emerald beam of death lanced out towards Ron's prone form and Harry whipped his wand upwards in a mirror of Matt's action earlier that same night, pulling up a bank of earth, just a split second too late, as the green bolt struck Ron in his exposed calf.

"Ron!" Harry said, desperately scrambling to his best friend, only to find Ron gone rigid, his blue eyes wide open and staring. A dull roar filled Harry's ears, and a coiling fury took hold of him. He focused on the front door and charged straight across the distance to the porch, thrusting his wand to launch a heavy tree branch ahead of him as a blocker, only for it to shatter against the wards an instant before he barrelled through.

As he crossed the threshold, the interior of the cottage became visible. The living room was a mess; clearly there had been a duel. The dining table lay in shattered pieces against the wall, the couch had been demolished and parts of it transfigured into pieces of glass and shards of metal which lay strewn about the room, and burns and pockmarks scored the walls. Andromeda herself was pinned sideways against the wall between the living room and the kitchen, her dress hanging nearly to the floor, eyes wide and silenced but otherwise apparently unharmed. Teddy floated next to the wall behind the front door inside a glowing blue ball, another ward of some kind, his cries now having fallen to soft whimpers. The Death Eater, Layton Avery, Harry recognized him immediately from the ratty grey hair combed to one side and prominent nose, knelt in the centre of the room and jammed his thumb onto the central ward stone as soon as Harry entered. Another set of wards appeared, blacking out all the windows and sound from outside. Avery grinned and started to stand, but Harry had other ideas as brought his wand to bear with a jagged twisting, flicking motion.

"_Sanguis Fervea!_" Harry shouted, the red and black blood-boiling curse bubbled out of his wand, coursing for Avery's grinning face, only to impact against yet another red tinted ward in the centre of the room. Fluorescent pink cracks spiderwebbed out from where Harry's curse hit it, but it held and faded from sight once more.

"Now, now, Potter," Avery said, his voice slightly distorted by the ward. He stood up and brandished his wand, "if we're going to do this, let's do it properly."

The Death Eater gestured to the floor where lines had been marked in silvery powder, the centre of a duelling circle.

"Take your place, and I'll drop the ward separating us," Avery said.

"_There are spells that shields cannot stop," _Harry heard a whisper in his head.

"_Crucio!_" Harry shouted, and the unforgivable sailed straight through the wards, only to shatter a chair seat Avery summoned to protect him.

"_Scutum Ruptor_," Harry said, and the blue light of Harry's shield-breaker smashed into the wards protecting Avery, causing more cracks and bits of the edges to fly off into ether.

Avery growled and pointed his wand at Andromeda.

"Stand on the line, boy, or the grandmother dies," Avery said.

Harry grit his teeth and made a quick evaluation whether he could break the shield before Avery cast some spell on Andromeda, then grudgingly stepped back a few paces to his starting line. Avery similarly stepped back, keeping his eyes on Harry the whole time, and dragged his thumb against another stone beneath Andromeda, causing shield to spring up around her, protecting her. Finally, he stepped up to his side of the makeshift duelling circle, just behind the line of silvery powder. Avery bowed and assumed an archaic formal duelling pose, wand held high above his head and pointed at Harry.

"I only wanted to talk, are you sure you want to do this?" Avery asked with an almost twitching smile.

"I'm going to fucking kill you," Harry replied, readying his first spell.

"_Mortis virga_," Avery said.

The blood ward in the centre of the room vanished, and Harry leaped forward.

"_Confringo!_" Harry shouted, only for Avery's wand to start moving in the exact counter curse for his spell before he'd even started casting it. The potent blasting curse fizzled away into nothing. Harry followed up with another blood boiling curse, this one silent, which met the same fate.

"_Is he reading my thoughts?_" Harry thought, only for Avery to grin.

Harry slammed down his occlumency shields and kept up the attack with a series of wordless cutters, leg locking jinxes, and body binds, but Avery's wand flashed and danced like a fencing foil, almost impossibly fast as he gave ground, circling about the room. Pieces of the walls, staircase, and chimney blew off and were flung around from the ferocity of their spellcasting, but the shields protecting the two hostages held firm. Compartmentalizing his thoughts helped him focus, and Harry realized he was in trouble, fighting alone against a marked Death Eater, one of Voldemort's inner circle. He paused, and Avery stared at him, holding his pose for a split second before launching into an attack of his own.

"_Accio!_" Harry shouted as soon as Avery's wand started moving, focusing on the shards of metal behind Avery. They zoomed at the Death Eater's exposed back, only to bounce off a shield. A sickly purple spell fired from Avery's wand, which Harry narrowly ducked, and it smashed into the mantle, scattering the timepiece there along with whatever else had been sitting above the fireplace.

"_How did he shield and cast a spell at the same time?_" Harry thought with alarm.

Harry went back on the offensive, now watching more carefully and realizing some of his spells weren't being countered; they were getting through only to be stopped by Avery's shield, which Harry supposed he maintained wordlessly and wandlessly with his off hand.

"_If it's wordless and wandless, it can't be that strong,_" Harry thought, "_a more powerful spell should get through._"

Harry snapped off a conjunctivitis curse, which Avery predictably ducked sideways to dodge, and Harry ended the motion with a slashing flourish.

"_Sectumsempra!_" he thought, trying to take off Avery's head. The Dark spell impacted Avery's shield and penetrated, tearing open the fabric of his robes and slicing into his shoulder, drawing a grunt of pain and a look of disbelief. Avery raised his wand in a come-hither motion, and Harry felt what seemed like a thousand shards of wood and metal pierce his legs and back, the exact same move he'd tried to pull on Avery, only Harry wasn't maintaining a shield around behind him. Avery flicked his wand again and all the shards tore themselves out the way they came in. It felt like his entire back was flayed open and Harry arched in pain, fighting to keep focus on his enemy. He barely deflected a disarming spell and stubbornly raised his wand in front of him.

"Give up Potter," Avery said, returning to his starting stance and seemingly unfazed by the bloody wound in his shoulder, "it doesn't have to end like this."

Harry staggered and kept his feet, barely. None of the wounds were mortal, though it felt like his entire back was on fire, and warm sticky blood already dripped down his legs. He growled at the Death Eater in front of him.

"_Avada-_" Harry started, but a brick from the fireplace smashed into the side of his head, dropping him down to one knee as he fought double vision.

"No," Avery said, hitting him with a wordless _impedimenta_ that Harry only partially blocked. With his movements slowed, Harry put up the strongest shield he could to try and buy just a few seconds to recover from the brick and shake the cobwebs from his mind.

Harry's arm and shield held against the first few spells Avery launched at him as Harry desperately tried to get the multiple Averys in his vision to consolidate into one.

"_Scutum ruptor_," Avery said, the powerful blue beam shattering Harry's shield and causing his wand arm to go numb with the recoil, "_Expelliarmus._"

Harry's wand leapt from his hand, and Avery caught it, pausing for a moment, arm outstretched. Then he burst into a gleeful laugh, rotting teeth exposed in a fetid rictus.

"Yes!" he said, staring at Harry's wand in his hand.

Harry's vision tunnelled; he looked down to see a small pool of blood collecting at his knees, and he panted a few times as he swayed, struggling to keep from toppling over. Harry looked to Teddy, still making little distressed whines.

"_I'm sorry Teddy,_" he thought, and then thoughts turned to the love of his life, "_I'm sorry Ginny, I got Ron killed, and then I got myself killed._"

His vision blurred at the thought of the pain his girlfriend would go through at his death, and he took strength from that. Harry took a few painful breaths, grabbed a piece of wood from the destroyed table and flung it at Avery. He forced his legs to launch his body at the Death Eater behind the projectile, but Avery caught them both in mid-air and sent them flying to crash into the ward protecting Andromeda, where the boy-who-lived crumpled to the ground in a bloody heap. He must have passed out for a moment, because the next thing he knew, his vision was blurry and Avery had started pacing the room, muttering to himself and occasionally looking over at Harry.

Harry turned his head slightly to look up into Andromeda's black and silver flecked eyes just above him, wide with alarm, her long brown hair hanging down almost to his face. Her cheek was bruised, but not too badly. She urgently looked at a spot of debris on top of the pile of wood which used to be the dining table, then back to Harry, then back to the debris. With great effort, Harry turned his head again and spied a wooden box which had been set atop the mantle and blown off during the duel. The box had broken during the fight, and inside Harry saw dark blue velvet, and smooth polished wood. A wand! Every movement agony, Harry slowly rolled onto his stomach, reached over, opened the box fully, and grasped end of the wand, Tonks' wand. He looked up to Avery, still lost in conversation with himself.

Harry lifted his battered arm, aimed at Avery, then adjusted higher, to the damaged ceiling above the pacing Death Eater.

"_Confringo,_" he muttered.

Avery reacted just an instant too late, spinning and pointing his wand.

"_Stupefy!_" he shouted.

The spells crossed each other in mid-air, and the last thing Harry saw was the leading edge of the red stunner about to impact his face as the second story started collapsing into the living room.

* * *

Harry cracked his eyes open and stared at the white ceiling, then took a shuddering breath. It was always disorienting, waking up in the hospital. He reached to the side table and slid his glasses on, then realized there was a weight on his chest. He blinked a few times and saw a mass of red hair draped across him, and felt a sweaty hand in his. Ginny sat in a hospital chair and leaned over him, head on his chest, facing him, sleeping peacefully. He swallowed thickly, suddenly remembering what'd happened.

"_Oh God, Ron_," Harry thought.

He felt an actual physical ache in his chest and started stroking Ginny's hair, as if to comfort her even though she still slept. By the feel of it, his back and legs had been healed, but he was still lightheaded from blood loss and the other various injuries he'd sustained. Soon enough Ginny stirred, eyes clenching before blinking open. She sat upright, rolled her neck, and smiled at him, but he took no solace from her.

"You're awake!" she said.

"Ginny," he said, "I'm so sorry."

She looked confused.

"Haven't they told you?" Harry asked, "Ron…"

Realization dawned on Ginny's face.

"Harry, Ron's alive," she said.

_Impossible._

"But… I saw it, the killing curse," Harry said, "I saw him."

Ginny shook her head.

"He's in the next room over, petrified," Ginny said, "the Healers aren't sure what happened, but they're going to try mandrake as soon as they bring some up."

Harry stared at her for a moment, then exhaled a huge sigh of relief and leaned back against his pillow, a sense of ease pouring through him. He didn't even want to think about how he would have broken the news to Hermione, or Ron's parents. Ginny yawned and rubbed her eyes, then blinked a few times and looked at him.

"It's really good to see you," she said, "but honestly Harry, you don't have to get yourself into the hospital, it'll be easier if we meet in Hogsmeade."

She smiled at him and he grinned in return, but then her smile turned to a serious expression.

"Still, you both almost died, they said if it wasn't for Andromeda…" she said, running her fingers over his arm, "Harry, just the thought of burying you too… and Ron, I can't…. Try not to do that again, okay?"

Harry nodded.

"I'll be more careful," Harry said, and she leaned forward to plant a chaste kiss on his lips.

"How are Teddy and Andromeda?" he asked.

"They're okay," Ginny replied, "The cottage was ruined, so I brought them to Grimmauld."

Harry nodded.

"Thank you," he said. Ginny laid her head down gently on Harry's chest again, looking up at him, and he lay there for several minutes just relishing the feel of her hand in his, her hair through his fingers. He could do this forever. Unfortunately, it wasn't long before he heard footsteps and a shadow fell across the door. Ginny stood up and peeked through, then slipped into the hallway. Harry heard snippets of a whispered conversation and Ginny stuck her head back through the door.

"They're waking up Ron now," she said, "I'll only be a few minutes. That was George by the way, he's being stubborn, saying he doesn't want to see you. I told him off."

Harry tried to sit up again and a wave of dizziness came over him. Ginny was by his side in a second, easing him back down.

"You're still on bedrest, Harry," Ginny said, "I'll bring Ron by though."

Harry nodded and lay back, letting tiredness wash over him. He heard the commotion from next door, but paid it no mind as he let his thoughts drift, running through the fight the previous night. Harry startled awake again when the door opened and Ron walked through, still wearing his scuffed Auror robes, sporting a few scratches on his face, but very much alive. Harry felt a broad smile spread across his face. Ginny followed close behind, then Molly and Arthur. Ron picked up a chair near the wall and sat down next to the bed, letting out a long breath that puffed out his cheeks.

"That was a close one mate," he said.

"Yeah," Harry said. What else could he say?

"Harry, are you feeling alright?" Molly asked, reaching out a hand to touch his leg.

"I'll be okay Mrs. Weasley," Harry said.

"Mrs. Tonks said you duelled Avery and won," Ginny said.

Ron looked back to Harry with a wide-eyed expression.

"One less Death Eater," Arthur said, "good on you Harry, but maybe next time don't cut it so close."

Mr. Weasley smiled, but Harry could see through it and the strain of worry he'd been under.

"Was more of a draw, really," Harry said, "and only because I got lucky."

"Wait, what happened after-" Ron said.

"I'll tell you later," Harry said. He didn't want to discuss the details in front of Ron's parents.

The door opened again, and Dawlish strode through. Ron stood up immediately.

"Sir," Harry said.

"Potter, feeling up to a trip down memory lane?" Dawlish asked.

"Harry's on bedrest," Ginny replied for him.

Head Auror Dawlish looked down at the redhead seated by Harry, then over to Harry.

"I won't force you Potter," he said, "but we have reason to believe the attack in Diagon might have been just a diversion."

Harry's eyes widened; he'd completely forgotten about the attack on Diagon Alley.

"How bad was it sir, in Diagon?" Harry asked.

"Some injuries, property damage, no deaths reported. We'll have a full debrief at some point where we'll discuss the importance of _following orders_, but right now, I have a press conference in ninety minutes. Andromeda Tonks refused to make a statement, and now she can't be located, which makes you the only other witness to what happened in her cottage."

Harry mentally winced. He had disobeyed a direct order from Mackenzie to help Andromeda, and dragged the other trainees with him. He could only hope the ends justified the means in this case.

"She's… hidden, sir, for the time being, until we're sure it's safe," Harry said, "I'll brief you."

Dawlish held his gaze for a moment, then nodded.

"I'll give you some time to clean up. My office, thirty minutes," he said, then turned and strode out the way he came in.

"Harry, are you sure?" Ginny asked, squeezing his hand.

"Yeah, it's just a bit of blood loss, help me up," he said, mashing the button to call a nurse. He shuffled his legs over the side of the bed and Ron helped support his weight while he pivoted into a chair. His fingers felt like sausages and tying his shoes was more difficult than usual, but he managed eventually.

A brunette witch in her thirties wearing white St. Mungo's robes entered and took one look at the room before starting to move towards Harry.

"Mr. Potter, you should be resting," she said.

"Can't, need to debrief, when's my next blood replenishing potion dose?" he asked.

The nurse picked up a file stuck into a pocket at the foot of the bed and flipped through a page.

"Not for another hour, and then another one four hours after that," she said.

Harry nodded.

"Give them to me now please, I'll take them when I need to," he said. The nurse frowned then departed the room with the file.

Harry stood up and forced his limbs to move, aiming to walk in a straight line until he was out of breath and his heart pounded, which didn't take long, then sat back down. He picked up his torn and bloody robes, only to have them snatched from his hand by Mrs. Weasley.

"I'll take care of these for you," she said, waving her wand a few times to repair the holes and scourgify the blood from it.

"If you're really going to do this then someone should go with you," Ginny said while the others watched on, "Mum, Dad, you can stay with Ron and I'll go with Harry."

Harry started to shake his head but then nodded instead as he caught on to what Ginny was doing.

"Alright, but it's going to be boring," he said.

"I just want to make sure you're okay," she replied, taking his hand again.

The nurse returned with a pair of small bottles.

"I'll need you to sign here, Mr. Potter," she said, holding out a clipboard and quill. Harry quickly signed the form and pushed both small vials into the pocket of his robes. He rose shakily and walked to the door, Ginny grasping his elbow.

"You sure you're alright mate?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, I'll see you later," Harry replied, "Molly, Arthur, thanks for coming."

"Harry," Mr. Weasley said, shaking his hand, "take care."

"Do stop by next weekend if you can, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, returning his robe and giving him a light hug. Harry pulled one arm through the robe and shuffled out the door.

Harry managed to walk down the hall mostly without leaning on Ginny. In the lift he propped himself against the wall for support and put his other sleeve on. He stood and forced himself to walk to the floo when they arrived at the ground floor, doing his best to ignore the whispers of the people in the waiting room. At the Ministry, he arrived in burst of green flames, overbalanced, and all but fell into Ginny's arms.

"You'd think you'd be used to it by now," she said.

"You'd think," he muttered, standing up straight again.

He glanced past the row of floo fireplaces towards the Atrium hoping to find it deserted, but it was bustling with activity.

"_Of course, the press conference_," Harry thought.

They made their way through the Atrium, past the flashes of the reporters shouting questions, and to the lifts. The press knew better than to enter the lift, but that didn't stop them from taking more photos while Harry jammed the button for the DMLE. The doors slid shut, and for about fifteen seconds he had privacy and Ginny all to himself. She looked up at him, brown eyes round and wide with anticipation, and he encircled her with his arms and leaned forward. She closed her eyes and parted her lips, welcoming him in and he obliged fiercely, his tongue clashing with hers as they indulged in each other completely. It had been so damn _long_ since he'd tasted her, he'd almost forgotten how good it felt, especially as she tugged at the front of his robes and let out a muffled 'mmf' sound into his mouth. The elevator dinged, and they split apart, hair dishevelled and breathing heavily. Harry could clearly see the pure desire on her face, the way she looked at him with her eyes half-open. He imagined he didn't look much different, and he very nearly begged off his meeting with Dawlish to take her home. Instead, he took her hand again and led her towards Auror headquarters.

The office buzzed with activity as letters flew around and Aurors filled out reports. All of the offices were occupied, and they made it about halfway past them before someone noticed they were there.

"Hey there he is, nice one Potter!" someone shouted. Spontaneous smatterings of applause broke out among the Aurors in the cube farm as Harry stopped and looked at them. Harry, unsure of exactly what they'd been told, figured smiling and waving to them to be the safest bet, then he pointed to Dawlish's office and kept walking. He glanced to the right as he passed Robards' office to see the large Auror seated at his desk. Robards glared at him, held up two fingers, and pointed them at Harry as if to say 'I'm watching you'.

Harry ignored him and continued his march to the Head Auror's office. As usual, it was cluttered to the point there was nowhere even to sit. The Pensieve already sat out in the open on its rails, and Dawlish himself leaned against his desk, reading through a report. Harry noted Avery's picture on the corkboard now had a large red 'X' over it. Good riddance. Dawlish snapped the report shut as Harry walked in.

"Good, you're here," he said, "Miss Weasley, please wait outside, and close the door."

"Good luck," Ginny whispered, kissing him on the cheek before exiting. Dawlish locked the door with a wave of his hand.

"I received the story from the other four trainees," Dawlish said, "but nobody knows what happened inside the cottage. It's a good bet this incident is related to the attack on you a few weeks ago, so I'd like to see the memory, if you're willing."

"Well, that depends sir," Harry said slowly, licking his lips, "err… it was a very stressful situation. I thought Ron had been killed, and honestly I thought I was going to die."

Dawlish took a deep breath and made a little grimace.

"Potter, whatever you did, anything we discuss within these four walls stays between us, that's a promise," Dawlish said, "Thanks to one of the other trainees, I haven't figured out who yet, word leaked to the press that you engaged Avery in a duel to the death and won. While they get to write fluffy stories about how you're a hero, again, I need to figure out if Avery was acting alone, or on orders from someone else, and the best way to do that is to see for myself."

He gestured to the Pensieve.

Harry sighed. He had to admit he was curious if there were any details he'd missed, and Dawlish had decades of Auror experience to draw from when he made his observations. Harry only hoped his loss of control would be excused. He brought the memories to the front of his mind, held his wand to his temple, slowly plucked the silvery gossamer thread, and dropped it into the Pensieve. Then the trainee and the Head Auror plunged into the misty bowl together.

They appeared in the woods outside the cottage, watching Harry and the five others approach invisibly. Dawlish nodded when Ron asserted it was a trap, and shook his head a few times at other points, but otherwise kept quiet.

"Stop. Something's wrong with that killing curse," Dawlish said at the flash of green, "go back."

They watched the memory three more times. Whenever Harry had seen Voldemort use the killing curse, it was always fast, like a snake strike, but this time, there was a half-second delay after the incantation.

"It's too slow," Harry said, "and every time I heard the killing curse, there was a whooshing sound. This time there was almost no sound."

"That green spell was almost certainly not a killing curse," Dawlish said, "and look at Weasley. Aside from the fact he's still alive, he doesn't go limp, he freezes up. That's some kind of… wordless petrification spell, designed to look like a killing curse."

"Sure as hell fooled me," Harry muttered.

"The whole thing, the attack on Diagon, everything, is smelling more and more like a setup to get you inside the cottage," Dawlish said.

They followed memory-Harry inside the house and Dawlish shook his head again at Harry's Cruciatus curse.

"You can't just go flinging about Unforgivables, Potter," Dawlish said.

"Sorry sir," Harry said. He figured expanding on his apology wouldn't help much at all, so he kept quiet.

"This is a bloody massacre, he's just toying with you," Dawlish said as the duel progressed.

Harry nodded and winced as he watched the debris embed itself in his back. It looked even more painful than it felt the first time around. Dawlish didn't even bat an eye.

"See, as soon as you hit him with that Dark cutter, he ended it," Dawlish said.

The Head Auror shook his head again at Avery's glee at disarming Harry.

"Dementors have done a number on him; he looks like he's playing with a few cards short of a full deck," Dawlish said, "look at him, like he's found the Philosopher's Stone or something. Why's he care about your wand so much?"

As Harry looked at the Death Eater's expression though, playing in slow motion, wholly elated as he focused on the little stick of holly and phoenix feather in his hand, another suspicion crawled up from Harry's gut. It all added up, the diversion in Diagon, the trap, the duelling circle, Avery's reaction… it was all exactly what Harry would have expected of someone trying to win ownership of the Elder Wand. But why the fake killing curse? More importantly, how could he know? The only people who knew about the Elder Wand were himself, Ron, and Hermione! Not even Ginny knew! The deathstick was safely hidden away, never to be used again, how could Avery possibly have found out about it?

"What do you suspect?" Dawlish asked, curiosity in his gaze.

Harry looked at the Head Auror, compartmentalizing as he'd been taught, and shook his head.

"Nothing, just… Voldemort's wand and mine shared the same core, maybe that's what he was after," Harry said, quickly thinking on his feet and mixing a bit of truth to conceal his cover-up.

"The same core, interesting," Dawlish said, turning back to the memory.

Then memory-Harry was lying beneath Andromeda, and Dawlish moved up close to Avery, watching him carefully as memory-Harry recovered the fallen wand and collapsed the second story.

"Damn, can't hear what he's saying," Dawlish said, "something about needing you for something?"

Harry moved over to him and they listened to Avery's musing a few times but memory-Harry was simply too far away and too dazed to hear and recall what Avery had muttered.

"Sir, is Avery still alive?" Harry asked, all his thoughts on the Elder wand.

Dawlish shook his head.

"No, Layton Avery was confirmed deceased after they dug his body out of the wreckage you dropped on him," Dawlish replied.

A sense of relief washed over Harry.

"They're sure it was him?" he asked.

"Yes, there was a blood match with the DMLE records from his stay at Azkaban," Dawlish asked, turning to give Harry his full attention, "why?"

"One less Death Eater," he said quietly, averting his eyes and practicing occlumency, "one less person who wants to kill me."

As the memory went dark, they exited the Pensieve and returned to Dawlish's office. Harry quickly fished the memory out of the bowl and returned it to his head, while Dawlish paced for a moment, deep in thought.

"Have a seat," Dawlish said, gesturing with one hand, and Harry cleared off one of the chairs, stacking the files on the corner of the desk.

Dawlish sat in his leather chair and folded his hands in front of him.

"Potter, you made over a dozen serious errors that night, and only through idiotic luck managed to survive," he said, "Weasley should be dead. You should be dead."

He started ticking off on one hand.

"You disobeyed a direct order and ran off, and you dragged a group of trainees with you into a deadly situation where you were emotionally compromised. You let yourself be seen by the enemy, and rather than trying to stall for time for reinforcements to arrive, you allowed the enemy to attack you. Then, rather than falling back, you counter-attacked someone sitting behind blood wards, despite not having a ward breaker. You charged blindly into a building with an unknown force inside, and you used several dark spells and an Unforgivable, which not only makes it more difficult to prosecute someone, it also happens to carry a life sentence in Azkaban."

Harry hung his head. When Dawlish laid it out like that, it did sound like a monumental cockup.

"Fortunately for you, we have a dead Death Eater on our hands and no other fatalities, so nobody's going to look too carefully into it, but you'd better hope Robards never finds out what happened in there or I'll have no choice but to drop you from the program and refer you to Fawley for prosecution," Dawlish said.

Harry's eyes widened. Rebecca Fawley was the head of the DMLE under Kingsley.

"Yes, I know there's something between you and Captain Robards, and no, I'm not going to do anything about it," Dawlish said, "we're professionals, we work with people we don't like, and who don't like us. So long as you don't break the law, he can't actually do anything to you. I've known Robards a long time; he's a good Auror and he has a nose for sniffing out trouble. I wouldn't have promoted him otherwise. He's tough on you because he suspects you've broken the law, and _obviously_ he's not wrong in that regard."

Harry swallowed.

"What's going to happen now, sir?" Harry asked.

"Now?" Dawlish said, "now I'm going to placate the feeding frenzy in the Atrium, and you're going to take the rest of the day, then return to training tomorrow. Anything that happened in that cottage is classified; you're not to tell anyone. Anyone. Not Weasley, not your girlfriend waiting outside, not your bloody pillow, understand? I know Andromeda Tonks can keep her mouth shut, but better remind her too, just in case. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry nodded.

The Head Auror pointed a finger at Harry.

"I'm warning you Potter, keep this reckless behaviour up, and good people are going to die, like your squad mates, like your girlfriend, like your godson, like other Aurors with families, and you don't want that on your conscience, believe me," Dawlish said, "You're not one man against the Dark Lord anymore. We're a whole organization and there's a chain of command within that organization that you need to respect. We're Aurors, Potter, we don't rely on lady luck because we know she's a fickle bitch. You want to be one of us? You'd better bloody start acting like it."

"Yes sir, I will sir," Harry said, sitting up straighter.

"Good," Dawlish said, "Now, the bad news. Avery was good, but never _that_ good. His duelling style has changed considerably in the past half-year. Clearly, he's been receiving training, and we need to figure out who he was working with, and how he got past the wards, but that's not your job, yet. You focus on getting through the trials, go spend some quality time with your girlfriend and your godson, and think about what both you and they will be losing if you keep screwing around like you did on Halloween."

Harry nodded.

"Remember Potter, there are old Aurors and there are bold Aurors, but there are no old bold Aurors," Dawlish said, "dismissed."

Harry stood up, saluted, and let himself out of Dawlish's office, forcing himself to not waver in his footsteps as a wave of lightheadness hit him. Ginny looked up from where she'd been chatting with Dawlish's receptionist and fell into step next to him.

"So?" she asked.

"I have a long way to go," Harry said with a frown, "Halloween could have been a disaster in so many different ways. I'm just glad nobody was seriously hurt."

Harry glanced into Robards' office as they passed by, but the Auror captain wasn't there. Once they reached the lift, Harry popped off the stopper from one of the blood replenishing potions and quaffed it down in a few gulps.

"I'm going to head to Grimmauld to rest up a bit and check on Andromeda and Teddy," Harry said, "how long are you off from Hogwarts?"

"I'm supposed to be on my way back now," Ginny replied, "I was only given leave to visit St. Mungo's."

Harry nodded.

"You should probably head back then," Harry said as he pushed the button.

"Oh," Ginny said, slumping her shoulders in disappointment.

Harry grinned.

"Then again, Dawlish did order me to spend some time with you, so perhaps I could convince you to stay away for a few more hours? I shouldn't be disobeying any more orders," Harry said.

Ginny smacked him the shoulder with the back of her hand.

"Prat," she said with a smile.

Harry chuckled, then grew serious as they entered the lift.

"Ready to face the vultures?" he asked. Ginny just sighed and nodded.

The lift doors opened into the Atrium, and the press were still there, lying in wait. They surged to activity when he and Ginny emerged from the lift, snapping off photos and leaving dazzling afterimages on Harry's retina.

"Mr. Potter! Did you challenge Avery to a duel?"

"Is it true Ronald Weasley survived a killing curse?"

"Was anyone killed?"

"No comment," Harry said, holding up a hand to the shouted questions and pushing his way through the crowd, "no comment!"

He paused at the entrance to the hallway with the floo fireplaces and turned, holding one hand up for quiet while gripping Ginny's hand with the other and pulling her close. The shouting died down and quills hovered over note pads, ready to start writing.

"I know there's a press conference in a few minutes," Harry said as quills started scratching, "there was an incident. I can confirm that Ron, myself, Mrs. Tonks, and little Teddy are safe and relatively unharmed. We thank you for your concern and ask that you respect our request for privacy at this time."

He turned and made for the floos as the questions started up again, slightly muted from before.

"Diagon first, then we'll apparate," Harry whispered to Ginny, who nodded.

Harry went first, appearing at the public floo in Diagon Alley, then immediately turning and apparating home with a loud *crack*, appearing in the living room. Ginny appeared a moment later with a soft *pop*, followed shortly afterwards by Kreacher.

"Master Harry has returned," Kreacher said.

"Kreacher, are Andromeda and Teddy here?" Harry asked.

"The… Mrs. Tonks is in the first guest room," Kreacher said, refraining from using any slurs to refer to Andromeda, per Harry's previous orders.

"Alright, you're to attend to her and Teddy's every need while they're guests in this house," Harry said, "also, prepare dinner for the three of us plus Teddy."

"Kreacher hears and obeys," the house elf said, bowing low and vanishing again, leaving them alone.

Harry sighed deeply and turned to Ginny to embrace her tightly, just enjoying the feeling of her against him for a moment. He pulled back to look down at her as she smiled, that one simple expression filling him with warmth; he could spend all day looking at her face and never grow tired of it.

"I almost ruined everything," he said, "I promised your mum and everyone else I would be careful, and I was anything but."

"Harry, what happened on Halloween?" Ginny asked.

Harry recounted the story, from the coin activating to thinking Ron was dead, to the duel in the cottage, leaving out the unforgivable he'd used.

"He had me beat, handily," Harry said, shaking his head, "Ginny, I almost died, should have, even."

"Shh," she said, looking up at him sternly, "you're not, you're still here, and it just goes to show you were right all along. We have to take care of all of them, or they'll keep coming after us."

Harry nodded.

"I need to get better, not just with wandwork but… there's so much more to this Auror business that I hadn't realized," he said, "strategy, teamwork, procedure, politics... It's just so much."

"Well, if Dawlish's receptionist knows anything, and I'll wager she does, you're like a breath of fresh air for them," Ginny said.

Harry looked at her questioningly.

"The way she tells it, everyone's been stretched thin for months. When Voldemort took over, half the Aurors quit or were forced out by Dawlish. Then when Kinglsey came in, all the Voldemort supporters still there had to be rooted out, leaving them with even fewer experienced Aurors. On top of that, they've now got a rotating schedule for Azkaban patrol, because Kingsley's trying to phase out the dementors. Apparently, before Andromeda's home was attacked, they hadn't caught a whiff of a real Death Eater in months because they're so shorthanded."

Ginny smiled at him.

"Then here's Harry Potter, fresh off defeating the Dark Lord, not even out of training, kills one in single combat defending his godson. Someone, Davis? Goes and talks to the press, Dawlish wasn't happy about that, by the way, and word gets around," Ginny said, "she said people in the office were excited for the first time in weeks."

"You got all that while I was talking to Dawlish?" Harry asked.

Ginny smirked at him and winked.

"I have my ways," she said with a grin.

Harry nodded again. He didn't really feel proud about how everything played out on Halloween, but now the warm welcome he'd received in Auror headquarters made a bit more sense. He was worried about the Elder Wand, but with Avery dead, Harry reckoned it didn't really matter that he'd been disarmed by the deceased Death Eater. He leaned down to kiss her again on the lips, and she smiled into it.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too," Ginny replied, "just… please try to stay safer?"

He nodded.

"I will, I've got too much to live for," he said seriously, running his hand up and down her back.

They were interrupted by a muffled baby's cry from upstairs and Harry stifled a groan of frustration.

"Let's see how they're doing," he said, breaking away from Ginny.

He led her up the stairs to the first guest room and knocked on the door. Andromeda opened it while balancing Teddy on one hip. His cries had lessened, but he was still blubbering a bit.

"Harry," she said, "you're looking better than the last time I saw you. Oh, and Ginny Weasley too, good to see you again."

"Hello Mrs. Tonks," Ginny said.

"You might as well call me Andromeda too," she replied, "come in, I couldn't get him to sleep earlier, so he's just woken up from a nap. He'll be fine once he's had a nappy change but it might be a bit tricky getting him to sleep tonight."

Andromeda laid Teddy down on the bed and waved her wand a few times, removing his soiled diaper, cleaning him up with a wet towel she had on standby, and then placing a clean one on.

"I really like what you've done with the place, by the way," Andromeda said as she finished wrapping Teddy up, "my aunt always kept it so dark in here, I never understood it."

"Thank you," Ginny said.

"Yeah, that was all Ginny," Harry said.

Andromeda smiled at her as Teddy started to coo.

"Thank you for letting us move in, I've already called someone to repair the cottage and strengthen the wards," Andromeda said.

Harry was already shaking his head.

"You can stay as long as you like. I'm barely here, and it's safer than the cottage," Harry said, "and really, it's practically your house too."

Andromeda shook her head.

"I don't want to be a burden, and well, there's too much history here," Andromeda replied, a frown crossing her features, "even if the furniture is all new, the walls have memories."

Harry nodded.

"Speaking of the wards, do you have any idea how Avery was able to get through?" Harry asked.

"I suspect he got me with the Imperius and added his blood to the wards that way," Andromeda said, "I have a few blank spots so…"

Harry nodded.

"Listen, Andromeda, about what happened in the cottage…" Harry said.

"Don't worry, I won't say anything," she said, "you saved our lives, Harry, I'm not going to put you in harm's way."

Harry nodded and scuffed the carpet with his toe.

"So… what happened before I got there?" Harry asked.

"I had just finished giving Teddy a bath, when I heard someone on the steps," Andromeda said, "when I went to look, Layton Avery was walking up. He cast something at me, not sure what it was. I tried to get Teddy and apparate, but I couldn't. So, I sealed the door and sent the message to you with the coin, and that's all I remember before waking up stuck to the wall."

Harry nodded.

"The worst part of it was watching you bleed out in front of me," Andromeda said, "the wards and sticking charms took a few minutes to wear off after you brought half the second story down. It's a good thing I kept blood replenishers in the kitchen. Then your friends came in and helped clean up and get you and Ron off to St. Mungo's."

Kreacher chose that moment to appear next to them.

"Master Harry, dinner is served," he said.

"Thank you Kreacher," Harry said.

The aged house elf bowed, then sneered at Andromeda before disapparating again.

The four of them made their way to the dining room and enjoyed the soup, roast pheasant and baked potatoes Kreacher laid out, making small talk and taking turns feeding Teddy the gruel-like blended and mashed vegetables Kreacher had prepared especially for him. Harry's eyes started closing by themselves and right around when he nodded off and startled awake for the second time, Andromeda made an excuse to leave and head upstairs with Teddy, leaving Harry and Ginny alone. The two of them left the plates and went upstairs to Harry's room. Harry fumbled with the stopper of the second blood replenishing potion before getting it open and drinking it down.

"Gin, I've been trying to figure out a way to get some alone time for us for weeks, but honestly…" he said, pulling off his shoes and dropping his Auror robes across the back of a chair.

"It's alright Harry, you need to rest," Ginny said, "should I go?"

Harry shook his head.

"No, stay for a while?" he asked.

Ginny wordlessly pulled off her shoes and outer robes to lay atop the covers with Harry. He dragged himself up to the pillow and turned to face her, their noses almost touching. She carefully pulled off his glasses, and he used a finger to brush a strand of hair away from her face, then moved forward to kiss her quietly, softly. Harry's arms circled around Ginny's athletic frame, and she slowly entwined her legs with his. He kissed her slowly, savouring every second of the sensations and the comfort she brought. They broke apart several minutes later and Harry gazed at his girlfriend, trying to convey with his eyes alone the depth of his feeling for her.

"I love you Ginny, so much," he said.

"I love you too Harry," she replied, her voice soft and tender. He closed his eyes and held her closely, drifting off to sleep.

Harry woke up the next morning alone in bed. Blearily, he reached out for his glasses and stumbled to his feet. He found a note written in Ginny's looping cursive on the desk:

_Harry, _

_It's nearly dawn and I need to get back, otherwise McGonagall's going to owl my parents. Looking forward to spending time with you again when you're feeling better. Stay safe._

_Love, Ginny_

He folded the letter carefully and placed it in the desk, then showered and pulled on the clean robes Kreacher had laid out for him. He came downstairs to find breakfast already laid out. He stacked some scrambled eggs between two pieces of toast and munched on that while he searched for Andromeda and Teddy. He found them in the living room; Teddy sat on the couch, propped up by some pillows, and waved his arms at a trio of multicoloured sparkling lights as they spun and twirled about him. Andromeda sat nearby, occasionally rejuvenating the lights when they started to dim; Harry noticed she wore the same clothing as the previous night.

"Feeling better?" Andromeda asked.

Harry nodded.

"Much. Teddy slept alright?" he asked.

"Mostly," Andromeda replied, "he woke up a few times but it's a strange place so, that's normal."

Harry nodded.

"Have you ate?" he asked.

"Yes, Kreacher prepared breakfast," Andromeda said, "brings back memories."

"Good ones I hope," Harry said, "I've instructed him to take care of you, so you can ask him for anything you need. Unfortunately, I'm expected at the training grounds this morning."

"Go on Harry," Andromeda said, "we'll be fine here."

Harry nodded and sighed. He picked up Teddy, who burbled happily at seeing him, and gave him a light hug.

"See you Teddy," he said, "Thanks again Andromeda. You're sure you're okay."

"Harry, we're fine, thanks to you," Andromeda said, "if you hadn't given me that coin, if you hadn't come so quickly… we're the ones who should be thanking you."

Harry felt a twinge of guilt. It was because of him they were attacked in the first place. Truthfully, it was all because of him. He patted Teddy on the back as he contemplated whether he should say anything, then decided nothing good could come of mentioning his thoughts to Andromeda. He placed Teddy back down in the corner of the couch and walked over to the fireplace.

"I'll see you soon," he said, scooping some powder out, "Auror Training Ground C."

After managing to keep his balance exiting the floo, Harry made his way down the trail, through the autumn mist to the barracks. He opened the door to find the others in the midst of their morning routines, including Ron.

"There he is!" Matt said in a booming voice.

"Welcome back Harry," Ron said, gripping his hand tightly and clapping him on the back.

Harry grinned at the trainees, then squinted at something pinned above his headboard.

"What did you do?" he asked.

Clippings from the Daily Prophet had been stuck to the wall.

'Dark Mark spotted near Reading – Obliviators Deployed'

'Harry Potter Injured, Defeats Layton Avery in Duel – Death Eater Brought to Justice'

He tried to tear them down, but found they'd been enchanted with unbreakable and sticking charms.

"Really?" Harry asked, "people are going to think I'm some kind of-"

"Hero?" Shawn asked.

"Narcissist," Harry said.

"Potter," Shawn said, throwing an arm over Harry's shoulder and looking at the articles, "one day, when you're a senior Auror and you've got an office of your own, you're going to want to put these up on the wall so every trainee who walks in there is going to know not to mess with you. We're just doing you a favour."

"Don't feel bad Harry, I've got one too," Ron said, pointing to the wall behind his bed.

'Ronald Weasley Survives Killing Curse?'

As if the fame they already had wasn't enough, this was just going to make it even worse.

"_Then again, there are worse fates,_" Harry thought.

A sharp knock rapped on the door only a second or two before it flung open and Mackenzie's tall lanky frame strode into the room. All of the trainees stood straight at attention.

"Having a good time this morning are we?" he asked, "everyone on the pitch in three minutes."

Just over three minutes later, they were outside and lined up on the track, Tammy stomping to get her boot situated properly because she'd pulled it on while her foot was still not quite dry from her shower.

"Halloween," Mackenzie said.

"Knew this was coming," Elizabeth whispered to Harry.

"How do you think it went?" Mackenzie asked.

There was silence for a moment, then Shawn Davis raised a hand.

"One dead Death Eater, and no one else, so all's well that ends well," he said.

"Think so?" Mackenzie asked, "because there were about fifteen different things you bunch of supposed Auror trainees cocked up. Maybe next time we should do it exactly the same way, hope for the best. You can duel the Death Eater though Davis, alone, if you even make it that far."

Shawn grimaced.

"Maybe not," he said.

"Today we're going to go through each one of those fifteen mistakes, why they were the wrong decisions, and what you should or could have done differently, starting with not running off half-arsed when you were ordered to stand by," Mackenzie said.

"Least we're not running laps," Ron muttered.

"And it's a 1K run for every one, starting now," Mackenzie said, conjuring the floating numbers.

Ron sighed and began running, pasty white calves showing beneath his still-too-short robes, while Harry grimaced at what promised to be a long and humbling day. True to his word, before each review, Mackenzie made them run 1000 meters. Dawlish had no doubt briefed Mackenzie, because almost all of the mistakes they went through were pointed out to Harry the day before.

Fifteen kilometres and fifteen situation reviews later, Harry's legs ached and a frown sat on his face. Each of the criticisms Mackenzie levelled at them felt almost personal, though he knew Mackenzie hadn't meant them that way.

"Alright, that was a long day. We'll finish with something a bit lighter," Mackenzie said, "go and get the Comets from the storage shed."

Harry perked up at that; flying always put him in a good mood. The trainees trudged over to the storage shed and picked out their brooms. They were all inferior to his Firebolt, of course, but Harry didn't care, flying was flying. He kicked off and flew up to the aerial course above the pitch, relishing the feel of the wind in his hair. He pushed the broom up to a sprint and felt a grin spread across his face as his spirit thrummed with the exhilaration of being up in the air again. The aerial course mirrored the track below, but there were hoops to fly through, moving obstacles to avoid, checkpoints to hit, and illusory poles to slalom through. Harry joined the others lining up vertically near the start of the obstacle course, manoeuvring and drifting slightly higher to give Matt a little more headroom beneath him. Harry'd won the previous race, but that was no reason to get overconfident.

"No teams today and no spells," Mackenzie said, "ready, steady, go!"

A loud *bang* sounded from Mackenzie's wand, and six brooms shot off to the entrance of the racing course. Harry put everything else out of his mind except cutting as close to the obstacles as he could to keep as straight a line as possible, and keeping tight to his broom to reduce drag. He banked hard into the first turn, his head only a few inches from the illusionary barrier marking the inside of the course and straightened out as the first obstacle came into view, a descending horizontal bar several feet tall. He glanced up to see the tip of Ron's broom edging ahead slightly before pulling up above the obstacle. Harry chose to go beneath it and picked up a little bit more speed as he descended, the wind roaring in his ears. He rolled and banked through the obstacles one after another, blasting out of the last one and down the first long straightaway, eyes tearing and hair whipping in the wind, just beneath and a half-length behind Ron. Harry took the opportunity in the straightaway to gain some altitude and drafted behind his best friend before going into the next set of obstacles. Once again, he twisted and rolled, almost coming up off his broom at one point he reversed direction so hard going from ascending to descending. When they came out of the last turn, Harry was still behind Ron, but a slalom faced them, the red and blue poles running the entire height of the track. Harry let the tail of his broom sweep out to fishtail neatly between the slaloms without scrubbing off too much speed as he descended beneath Ron. As Harry cleared the last pole, he straightened his broom, hugged the shaft, and pushed forward slightly in a shallow dive to barrel down the straightaway to the finish, just barely edging out Ron. Harry looked back as Matt finished right after them, followed by Tammy, Shawn, and Elizabeth. Ron drifted next to Harry and punched him not-so-lightly in the arm.

"Prat," the redhead said, grinning.

Harry just shrugged and returned the grin, then glanced across the top of the forest.

"_Wish I could spend all day up here_," he thought.

"Not bad you lot," Mackenzie said, drifting over to them, "alright, that's enough for the week. Despite nearly getting yourselves killed a few nights ago, you're actually nearly there, maybe a month away from trials."

The trainees sat in contemplative silence for a moment, before Shawn piped up.

"Seeing as Potter and Weasley are getting special treatment and skipping over two years of training, I've got a request as well," he said.

"Let me know when you get your Order of Merlin first class, otherwise shut it," Mackenzie fired back, "any other stupid questions? Good. Davis, you need to work on your consistency, Wilson, transfiguration, Miller, charms, Moore, broomwork, Potter and Weasley, policy and regulation."

Each of them nodded as the trainer called out their focus areas ahead of Trials.

"That's enough for the week, I'll see you back here on Monday morning, 0600 sharp," Mackenzie said, then flew off towards the floo shack.

The trainees returned to the broom shed and deposited their Comets.

"Oh, I forgot to mention, Seamus dropped by my room after you left," Ron said as they walked the path between the storage shed and the barracks, "healers cleared him; said he wanted to apologize, and he couldn't remember anything extra."

Harry frowned.

"Bugger," he said, "I really was hoping he could have told us something, but at least he's alright."

As they entered the barracks, Harry was all but ambushed by the other trainees.

"What happened in the cottage?" Shawn asked, "we couldn't break through the wards until a few minutes after the second story fell in."

Harry looked around at their expectant faces, including Ron's, and nodded. He recounted the story from when he entered, the duelling circle, the wards, how Avery'd completely outclassed him, and how he'd taken him down using Nymphadora Tonks' old wand, obviously leaving out the Unforgivable.

"And that's about it, just got lucky," he said.

Matt gave a low whistle.

"That's not luck, Potter," the big man said, "that's calm under pressure. And you're no slouch with a wand either, if all the Death Eaters are like that…"

He shook his head, almost in disbelief.

"Well, there was a little bit of luck," Shawn added.

"I'm glad you're alright Harry, and you too Ron," Elizabeth said, "let's just try to do better next time."

All the others nodded and the four older trainees hit the showers while Harry tapped Ron on the elbow to let him know to hang back.

"Ron, there's something else about Avery," Harry said quietly, "I'm pretty sure he knew about the… you-know-what."

Harry waved his wand back and forth a bit.

It took Ron a moment but then his eyes widened.

"How?" he asked.

"That's what I'd like to know, but it makes sense," Harry said, "we already know it was a trap. There was a duelling circle set up inside the cottage, and you should have seen his reaction when he disarmed me."

Harry paused, remembering the expression on Avery's face.

"It was like he'd won a million galleons," Harry said with a frown.

They fell quiet as one of the showers turned off.

"Where could he have heard it from?" Ron asked quietly.

"I've been wondering the same thing," Harry said, "maybe Voldemort told some of his followers, but I doubt it."

"Maybe Avery or someone else figured it out, Ollivander or Luna's father maybe?" Ron asked.

Harry turned his head slightly to one side, quizzically.

"Where are the Lovegoods these days anyway, do you know?" Harry asked.

"Ginny mentioned they were in Russia looking for some beast or other," Ron replied.

They fell quiet for a moment.

"You're sure it's hidden well," Ron asked.

Harry nodded.

Shawn and Matt emerged from the shower with white towels wrapped about their waists.

"Honestly, I thought it was a good lesson, not joking," Shawn said, "all of the points made sense, and we'd be stupid if we didn't learn from them."

"Hard to believe it's his first year as a trainer," Matt said.

"Mackenzie?" Harry asked, "it's his first year?"

"Yep," Matt said, "he used to be an obliviator, and our trainer was a bloke named Patrick Robinson, but they needed everyone they could in the field, so…"

"Wow, I had no idea," Harry said.

"Yeah, he seems like he's done this forever," Ron added.

"They probably have a training guide, Merlin knows they have guides for everything else," Shawn said, "but today's breakdown was top notch."

It was rare to hear praise for anything from Davis, and Harry debated whether to tell the others the details actually came from Dawlish, but decided to keep his mouth shut as he picked up a towel and soap from his trunk. He showered quickly and looked forward to sleeping as much as he wanted, in his own bed back at Grimmauld, only to find the four older trainees dressed in casual robes and waiting for him when he emerged.

"So, Harry," Matt said, "do you have plans tonight?"

"Does sleep count?" Harry asked, moving to his bed and putting up an opaque ward so he could get dressed.

"The ladies were thinking to celebrate, you know, all of us surviving," Shawn said from the other side of the ward, "have you ever been to a muggle club?"

Uncle Vernon had spoken with pride of being invited to a club a few times, and Harry figured it was a place where people who had too high opinions of themselves went to go smoke cigars and reassure themselves of their place in society. Then again, he didn't really think it was the type of place any of the others would voluntarily go to.

"Can't say I have," Harry replied.

"Have what?" Ron asked as the bathroom door shut.

"Been clubbing in muggle London," Tammy replied, "music and dancing."

"_Oh,_ that _type of club_," Harry thought.

There was a moment of silence and Harry wished Ron could see his face so he could let him know he wasn't interested.

"Sounds fun, what do you think Harry?" Ron asked, and Harry cursed to himself.

Harry sighed.

"You can't let us go without you mate, you did all the work. Plus, you wouldn't want to let Liz down, would you Potter?" Shawn asked.

"Shut it, Davis," Elizabeth said, "Harry, I was just thinking that you're always under the microscope, and never get a chance to relax, and since the… Halloween, you've been really tense. What better way to let your guard down a bit than to head out where nobody knows who you are, no reporters are going to ask you questions, and nobody will recognize you? You don't have to come if you don't want to, it was just an idea."

That was… surprisingly thoughtful. And all of the others seemed keen. He shouldn't be the one to spoil their party, and they were supposed to be a team, after all.

"Alright, I'll go," Harry said.

"Yeah, me too," Ron said.

"Yes!" Tammy said, "do you have clothes? There's still time to go shopping."

"Ron will need clothes for sure," Harry said, pulling on a pair of trousers and dropping the privacy charm, "I probably will too."

"That's no problem, Liz knows a good muggle clothing store nearby the entrance to the Leaky," Tammy said, "Davis, Wilson, coming?"

"Oh no, can't speak for Shawn but I've done my time with the two of you already," Matt said, "I'll see you at the exit from Diagon around ten o'clock."

"Same," Shawn said, "don't forget to eat something."

The two older guys departed, leaving Harry and Ron with Elizabeth and Tammy. Harry shoved his feet into a pair of trainers and finished tying them just as Ron dropped his privacy ward.

"Ready?" Elizabeth asked, "meet at the Leaky."

They separately apparated to Diagon Alley, near the Leaky Cauldron. Night had fallen and the air was already quite chilly; their breath steamed as they gathered near the entrance.

"Alright, just follow my lead," Elizabeth said, while Tammy grinned in anticipation.

They pushed through the hidden entrance and past the dimly lit bar into muggle London.

"You're really in for a treat," Tammy said, her excitement almost palpable, "Liz took us clubbing for the first time after we all got back together in the middle of May, and… well, I guess you'll see for yourselves."

They walked a few blocks and Elizabeth led them through a mall and into a department store.

"Wait, I just realized I don't have any muggle money," Harry said.

"It's okay, it's on me," Elizabeth said.

"No, you can't-" Harry said.

"It's my money, and I can," Elizabeth said, stopping in the middle of the children's section and turning to face Harry, who stopped short to keep from running into her, "Harry, if it wasn't for you, and you too Ron of course, I'd be hiding out in the muggle world, looking over my shoulder for literally the rest of my life. So as a thank you gift, let us dress you up and take you out for a night, would you?"

Harry stared at her blue eyes, at a loss for words, exchanged a glance with Ron, then nodded.

"Alright," he said.

"Good," Elizabeth said as she turned and found the men's department.

What followed was a series of rapid-fire outfit changes and presentations, as they were on the clock. Tammy and Elizabeth picked up about five outfits for Harry and Ron each, and hurried them through them, discarding clothing quickly. For Harry, they settled on a brown blazer so dark as to be almost black, and light tan slacks, with a dark green shirt, making his emerald eyes practically glow. Ron ended up with a leather jacket and a deep red shirt, almost maroon, black slacks with a silver belt buckle, and black boots.

"Hang on," Elizabeth said, picking up a red baseball cap.

Harry snickered as she reached up to place it backwards on Ron's head.

"Perfect," she said.

Ron looked himself over in the mirror and immediately took the hat off and ran his fingers through his hair.

"No way," he said, "I'll do everything else, but the hat stays off."

"Let's leave it Elizabeth," Tammy said, "the hat just covers up his hair."

Ron nodded at Tammy and turned to Elizabeth.

"See?" he said.

The muggleborn Auror trainee relented and they went to check out. Harry fidgeted as Elizabeth paid with a credit card, and he almost had to bite his lip to keep from protesting again.

"Are you sure this is what muggles wear?" Ron asked quietly.

"Trust us, you'll look great," Tammy replied.

That seemed to mollify him somewhat, and they completed the purchases. The new clothes and shoes felt heavy in the large paper bags bearing the logo of the store on the side.

Once they were back in the mall proper, Elizabeth looked towards a replica of Big Ben sitting in the centre of the building.

"Okay, meet you in front of the Leaky in about an hour?" she asked.

"Wait, where are you going?" Ron asked.

"We have to get ready Ron," Elizabeth replied.

"Oh, right," Ron said.

Elizabeth chuckled as she and Tammy walked towards the ladies' room. Harry watched them go for a moment until he was interrupted by Ron.

"So… what're we gonna do now?" he asked.

Ron glanced around uneasily, and Harry reminded himself that his friend probably wasn't used to being out and about in muggle London.

"Let's apparate to Grimmauld," Harry said, "we can drop this stuff off and get Kreacher to make dinner for us."

Ron nodded and sighed with relief.

"Good idea," he said.

They entered the stalls in the men's room and popped back to Harry's house. Kreacher greeted them in the living room, near the floo and the couch.

"Master Harry has returned," the house elf said, taking their parcels, "the… Tonks woman takes dinner in the dining room."

"Thank you Kreacher," Harry said, "please prepare two more settings for Ron and myself."

"Kreacher lives to serve the noble house of Black," Kreacher said, bowing low and vanishing again.

"Certainly makes life a bit easier," Ron said as they walked to the kitchen.

"Yeah, I'm hoping one day he'll stop with all the mudblood and blood traitor talk," Harry said, "he's still fighting it."

"Old habits die hard I suppose," Ron said.

They entered the kitchen to find Andromeda eating alone.

"I thought I heard someone come in," she said with a warm smile, "welcome home, Harry."

"Teddy's sleeping?" Harry asked.

Andromeda nodded.

"About an hour ago," she said, "he'll be down for the night, hopefully."

Harry and Ron sat down across from Teddy's grandmother and Kreacher popped in to quickly set places for the two of them.

"Fully recovered then?" Andromeda asked.

Harry nodded.

"Yes, thanks, the both of you?" he asked.

"I'm okay. Teddy took a little while to adjust but after a week here I think he's explored every nook of this old house," she said.

Kreacher chose that moment to return with a platter filled with steaming food, chicken cutlets and garlic bread, with steamed broccoli and carrots on the side, and a gravy boat filled with the brown viscous liquid.

They tucked in and ate quickly.

"What do you think this clubbing is about?" Ron asked.

"Dancing, I'm pretty sure," Harry said, "and drinking."

Ron paused.

"Dancing," Ron muttered, "and people do this willingly?"

"Some, I guess," Harry said, "I don't really know too much about it."

"You're going to a disco tonight?" Andromeda asked.

"Don't think it's called disco anymore, but something like that," Harry replied, "the other trainees are taking us out, sort of a celebration."

Andromeda nodded.

"Try to have fun, relax a little, you've earned it," she said with a sad little smile.

They finished up dinner and excused themselves while Andromeda helped herself to a glass of red wine. Harry and Ron went upstairs to their respective rooms, and Harry found his clothing already laid out for him on his bed. He changed quickly and gave himself a once over in the mirror, trying in vain to get his hair to lay down flat before giving it up as a lost cause. He returned downstairs and waited for Ron, who followed a few minutes later, clumping heavily in his new boots and looking somewhat uncomfortable in the dark leather jacket.

"It's like a new adventure, right?" Ron said.

"I'm hoping this one doesn't turn into an epic life or death struggle," Harry replied, "had enough of those to last two lifetimes, thanks."

They pulled out their wands and with a silent nod, apparated to Diagon Alley. The cold air hit Harry like a shock, snapping him to alertness; it'd definitely gotten chillier after nightfall. He looked around and spotted Matt and Shawn under a nearby lamppost, the former wearing a dark leather jacket complete with metal studs, making him seem all the more intimidating. Shawn, on the other hand, sported slicked back hair, a light-cream coloured blazer, and a borderline flamboyant electric pink shirt underneath. Harry and Ron made their way over to them.

"That's four, and now we wait for the ladies, as usual," Matt said.

They apparated in within a few seconds of each other and Harry had to do a double-take. Elizabeth still wore her hair in twin braids, now with colourful blue and red ribbons tying off the ends. An open white button-down shirt tied off just below her chest, leaving her the top of her dark red bra and entire stomach completely exposed, and she wore an open grey jumper to cover her arms down to her elbows. A dark pleated skirt fell to mid-thigh and dark knee-high stockings and heeled boots finished off the outfit. Tammy had braided her blonde hair and wore it coiled about the back of her head with strings of glittering silver running through it, dark red lipstick, and a short black cocktail dress, contrasting with her fair skin, leaving her arms, chest, shoulders, and most of her legs exposed to the night air. She stepped towards them in strapped heels, making a clacking sound on the stone sidewalk, each step causing light to shimmer and refract off the trio of diamond-like gems adorning the top of each shoe.

"Ready?" she asked, "let's go."

Tammy clicked her way over to the hidden entrance to the muggle world, the toned muscles on her calves standing out in the streetlights.

"Pick your jaw up off the floor, Weasley," Shawn muttered with a smirk as he passed by.

They left through the Leaky and followed Elizabeth through a few streets.

"Aren't you cold?" Ron asked, apparently having rediscovered his voice.

"Warming charms," Tammy replied with a wink.

They walked a few blocks through the London night until they came to an older looking stone building with a few steps to walk up to an arched entryway. A line of muggles had formed on the steps and part of the way down the block and at first glance, they were dressed much the same way Harry and the others were. Several large, well-built men wearing jeans and dark t-shirts stood near the entrance to the building. Even on the street, the sound of thumping bass could be heard from within.

Elizabeth ignored the line and walked straight up to the red ropes and the large bald muggle with folded arms blocking off the entrance.

"Yeah?" the bouncer asked.

"Let us in," Elizabeth said.

Shawn shifted next to Harry slightly.

"_Confundus_," he whispered.

Harry turned his head to stare at Shawn, who just gave him a smirk and shrugged. He grabbed Harry by the wrist and ushered him past the ropes.

"Aw come on!" came a cry from the line waiting outside in the cold, but the six trainees were on their way in. Harry received a red wristband and entered the building with the others, walking down a long dim hallway with a red carpet rolled down the centre as the music grew louder, and louder. Then they turned a corner and the hallway opened into a large high-ceilinged room, perhaps a hundred or two hundred feet across, writhing with dancers a few steps below them. A goateed man wearing sunglasses, a bright red shirt, gold chains, and large headphones stood on a stage on the far side, nodding his head to the beat. Colourful laser lights intermittently flashed in random directions, and spotlights occasionally aimed down at the crowd, illuminating a handful of partygoers for a second at a time. Several tables were set up in alcoves around the room and on the periphery of dance floor, one of which a pair of girls were already dancing atop of. A long glowing bar with several bartenders each dominated both sides of the room, bottles behind them backlit by more fluorescent lighting. The deafening music blasted its way through Harry; he could feel the vibration of the bass in his chest, and Tammy had to shout to be heard.

"Well, what do you think?" she shouted.

Harry gave her an incredulous look and an almost helpless shrug, then looked to Elizabeth, who rolled her eyes, grabbed Ron by the wrist, and pulled him onto the dance floor. Harry similarly felt Tammy grab him and he looked back helplessly at Matt and Shawn who sniggered and made their way towards the bar. Then Harry was in and among the undulating and bouncing bodies and he stood still for a moment, unsure of how to even get started. Tammy grabbed his hands, moving and smiling with a confidence that spoke of either a passion for it or hours of practice, and Harry made a few lacklustre attempts at reciprocating, certain he was making a fool of himself. Mercifully, Shawn and Matt showed up with several drinks.

"Here's to Harry, and taking down a Death Eater before we even finished the Trials!" Shawn said, holding up his glass.

Harry slammed back the amber liquid fire, and had another for good measure. After that, he felt the edge fall off somewhat and he loosened up a bit, moving about the dance floor and mingling with the muggles. The outfits the women wore were like nothing he'd seen in the wizarding world, and he was secretly thankful to Elizabeth for suggesting they come here. A blast of smoke billowed out from the stage, and strobe lights and lasers flashed through them to the cheers of the crowd. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see a wavy-haired brunette muggle girl with dark tanned skin wearing a flowing, spaghetti strap red dress.

"I like your eyes, wanna dance?" she shouted.

He nodded and danced with her for a bit, then moved around and danced with whoever he wanted. Nobody knew him here; he was just another face in the crowd. He cheered when the crowd cheered and glanced up at some girls dancing on a table, catching a glimpse of way more than he bargained for. One look at the practically drooling guys around the table had him moving on though. The pounding rhythm started to wear on him a bit after what he guessed was about an hour, and he danced and nudged his way over to the fluorescent bar, where he spotted Elizabeth sipping a blue coloured drink with a paper umbrella stuck into it. Harry practically ran into the bar next to her.

"Water," he said, thanking the bartender when he received a cup filled with ice and soothing liquid. He drained it in one go.

"Having fun?" Elizabeth asked, shouting to be heard over the music.

Harry nodded.

"This was a great idea," he replied.

Elizabeth smiled at him and nodded. Then she nudged him with her elbow and looked off into the crowd. Harry followed her gaze and had trouble at first picking out what she was staring at, then he spotted Ron's ginger hair and tall frame, dancing with Tammy. The blonde had her back to Ron and shimmied her way down and up, rubbing against him, then turned and gave Ron the kind of smile that set off warning alarms in Harry's head.

Harry left Elizabeth and was already on the move when Tammy placed her arms about Ron's neck and gazed up into his eyes, and as Harry got closer, he could clearly see she was drunk, but that didn't bloody matter.

He ducked his head and cut right under her arm and stood up between the two of them, forcing them apart, and looking up into Ron's blue eyes.

"Harry," he said, surprised.

"Hi Harry, you want to dance with us too?" Tammy said from behind him. He felt her continue to bounce to the beat and press against his back.

"Ron, could I have a word with you please," Harry said, "outside."

Harry pointed to make sure Ron got the message.

"Err, sure mate," Ron said, "eh… be right back."

"C'mon Tammy, let's get some water," Elizabeth said as Harry led Ron out the entrance and into the street again. He looked around the entrance at all the people milling about and decided to head across the road, showing the bouncer his wrist band to have the rope removed so they could leave and return if they wanted to. Out of the club, away from the music, Harry's ears filled with a high-pitched ringing, but he felt his head starting to clear in the cold night air. He sat down on the kerb across from the entrance, where muggles still lined up by the dozens to get in, and Ron sat next to him.

"I know what you're going to say," Ron said, "nothing would have happened."

"Sure didn't look like nothing from where I was," Harry said, "Ron, what were you thinking?"

"Was just dancing, having a good time," Ron said, "I wasn't going to kiss her or anything."

"Oh well, that's a relief," Harry replied, dripping as much sarcasm into his voice as he could muster, "and what if she kissed you, fancy explaining that one to Hermione? Or worse, putting me in a spot where I have to decide whether to tell her or not?"

Ron picked up a pebble and tossed it into the street. A car passed by and lit up his face, drizzled with melancholy, for a brief moment for Harry to see.

"Least then we'd be talking to each other," Ron mumbled.

"Ron… what?" Harry asked.

Ron blew a long breath into the night.

"Mate, we were together for exactly two days before she flew off to Australia," Ron said, "now she's back at Hogwarts, and guess how many times she's written?"

Harry shrugged.

"Six?" he asked, which happened to be the number of times Ginny had written him.

Ron held up a single finger.

"Once," he said, "just the one time."

"_Uh oh," _Harry thought.

"Have you tried writing her? It's a two-way street you know," Harry asked.

"Sure, loads of times, but nothing. I get that she's busy, and she's trying to bring her parents back and all, it's just…" Ron said, "I dunno if she's just getting the letters and ignoring them or…"

Ron sighed and looked up at the black sky.

"And I was thinking about what you said, about the Cannons, and all this she'd be leaving behind if she was, you know, if we were going to get married," Ron said, absently waving his hand about at all the buildings around them.

It took Harry a moment to realize Ron was talking about the chat they'd had on the way back from Arthur Weasley's shed.

"How do you even know if someone's the one?" Ron asked as he shrugged again, "I mean, what's it feel like? Pretty sure it doesn't feel like this."

He tossed another pebble into the street, and Harry shook his head.

"That doesn't matter, you're together, and…" Harry said, "look mate, I don't mind if you play the field, but you owe it to Hermione to break things off with her first, if that's what you're going to do."

"Or if you know she's not right for you," Harry added, "you're still my best mate, no matter what."

"But I don't want to. Play the field I mean," Ron said with a huff, "bloody hell, why's this have to be so confusing? I mean, look at you and Ginny, do you know she's the one?"

"Yes," Harry replied without hesitation.

Ron made a nodding motion as if to say 'see?'

"Well? How do you know?" Ron asked.

"Well, err, we're sort of a special case," Harry said, "we both had Voldemort stuck in our heads for so long, and there's nobody else on the planet who knows what that's like, so… we're the only ones who can really understand each other. Plus, she's just… brilliant in every way, so, that's works out."

"Hmm," Ron said, "well, bully for you two then."

They sat in silence outside the club for another few minutes until Harry's backside started to go numb from sitting on the ice-cold pavement.

"C'mon, let's head home, get some rest," Harry said, "Dinner with your parents tomorrow."

Ron nodded and Harry stood up, then reached down to help his friend to his feet.

"Cheer up mate, we'll go up for Hogsmeade soon, and then it's winter hols. It'll all work out in the end," Harry said.

Ron nodded, but either couldn't or wouldn't muster up a smile.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Chapter 13

Bellatrix rolled her eyes as Wesley Michaels cast a _protego_ shield to deflect her hex instead of dodging like he was supposed to.

"_Can't let that go unpunished,_" she thought.

She hammered him with a pair of wordless banishing spells to soften him up.

"_Depulso!_" she said with a flourish of her wand, the full-powered banisher shredding what remained of his shield and sending him ten feet through the air to land heavily, knocking over one of the desks of the unused classroom in the process. He groaned in pain as she stalked the short distance to stand over him and point her wand in his face.

"Did I _say_ shield?" she asked.

Michaels shook his head and mumbled an apology.

"I don't know why I'm even bothering with this if you can't even follow simple instructions. Dodge, and counter, or reverse," she said, punctuating her statement with a wordless stinging hex in the face.

He yelped in pain and scrabbled backwards, standing up with his back to the wall, one hand on his already swelling cheek and the other holding his wand out at Julia, who only smirked at him with a hand on her hip, the tip of her wand still pointed at him.

"What's with the stinging hexes all the time?" Michaels said, bordering on a whine.

"Pain is a good motivator, and they're less permanent than cutters," Bellatrix said, "plus you get this cute expression on your face when I hit you with one; it's half the reason I'm still coming to these tutoring sessions."

She'd lied, actually, she needed to vent her frustration at being surrounded by idiots all the time, and Wesley Michaels was a perfect and willing punching bag. If his duelling improved as a result, well, that was a fortunate by-product. She sent another pair of stinging hexes at him, and he managed to twist away from both of them.

"Ha!" he said, only for a third stinging hex to hit him in the thigh, "Ow!"

"You forgot the counter, widdle-cutie-Wesley," Julia said.

Her wand vibrated in her hand and she pouted.

"Hmm. Bad luck, Michaels, looks like time's up," she said, sidestepping and slipping between two desks towards the door.

Michaels sighed, perhaps in relief, perhaps in frustration.

"Am I at least getting any better?" he asked, limping over to one of the desks they'd moved to make space for their sparring session and sliding it back to its original spot.

Bellatrix paused by the door to look back at him.

"You're still shit at duelling, but so are those three jokers who jumped you on the first day of class, so who knows, maybe you could take one or two of them now," she replied, "only one way to find out."

"I'm not looking to pick a fight," he said.

"Sure," she replied, undoing the locking charm and opening the door.

"How'd you get so good, anyway?" he asked.

Bellatrix made a show of thinking carefully as she tapped her wand against the doorframe and looked around the room

"Truthfully?" she asked, and Wesley nodded, "talent, practice, and a lot of pain."

Michaels sighed as he went to retrieve another desk.

"Same time next week, White?" he asked.

"Unless something comes up. Au revoir, Michaels," she replied with a little wave of her wand, leaving him to rearrange the room.

Bellatrix skipped down the hall to the staircase leading down to the dungeon, looking forward to getting back to the lab. About halfway down, she remembered herself and slowed to a walk. Over the past few weeks, she'd fallen into something of a routine, attending classes, quidditch practice, tutoring Michaels, and then spending every spare moment in the lab with Hermione. More often than not, she found herself looking forward to her time in the lab, mostly because Hermione knew what she was doing, and didn't talk about useless, unimportant things.

Julia opened the door to the old potions classroom to find the bushy-haired mudblood bent over a cauldron, stirring anti-clockwise with one hand, slowly, observing the effects after each full rotation and marking down notes with the other hand. Julia kept quiet so as not to disturb her and checked on the brew she'd left to set before leaving for the duelling session. The boiling hot liquid had cooled and turned a light green colour, just as she'd predicted. She opened the black covered journal next to the cauldron and placed an 'X' next to that particular combination. When Hermione finally stood up straight with a sigh, Julia spoke up.

"No good here," Julia said, "green, just like the last five."

"This one's no good either," Hermione said, "I think that's it then, there's no overlap, repairing obliviation damage is a dead-end. We're going to have to de-age them temporarily."

"Are you sure?" Julia asked, "I thought we still had a good twenty percent of the permutation to go through?"

Hermione shook her head.

"I found a redundancy in the arithmancy that lets us eliminate all the rest of the tests, that's why we switched the order last week," Hermione said, "I didn't want to say anything until confirming it with Professor Vector this morning."

Julia furrowed her brows.

"May I see it?" she asked.

Hermione nodded and pulled a notebook from her moleskin pouch, flipped a few pages, and passed it to Julia. Hermione's tight script laid out an elegant proof over two pages, neatly cancelling out over a quarter of the original permutation. Vector had written a note at the bottom '_Masterfully done, please consider a career in Arithmancy!_'

"This is brilliant," Julia said.

"_For a mudblood_," Bellatrix thought.

"You just saved us two weeks of work, maybe more," she added.

"You always sound surprised," Hermione said with a half-smile.

Julia rolled her eyes.

"The world is filled with idiots and numbskulls, it's refreshing to find someone who can figure something out before me," Julia replied, grinning internally as a touch of rose coloured Hermione's cheeks.

"Bit of luck combined with borderline unhealthy obsession," Hermione said.

Julia smiled and snapped her fingers.

"All those plants we asked Neville to grow, we should replace them with ones we're more likely to need now," she said.

Hermione nodded.

"I was thinking the same thing. We can tell him over lunch," she said. The two girls vanished the remains of the potions, cleaned the stirring tools and the pots, wiped down the counters, and each recorded their findings in separate notebooks. Hermione had insisted on two copies and a backup in a separate location, to avoid a repeat of the previous catastrophe. By the time they'd finished and climbed the steps to the ground floor, Bellatrix's stomach was well along the journey from gentle reminders to insistent grumbling and she looked forward to sitting down to a good meal. As they approached the large double doors though, a loud bang echoed from inside the Hall, followed by a small commotion, and laughter. A dark-haired Ravenclaw came tearing out of the Great Hall, a trio of green and yellow bats dive bombing him as he ducked and dodged. Bellatrix decided the sight was far too amusing to interfere with, and quietly stepped to the side to let the boy pass by.

"Moron, what was he thinking," Hermione muttered.

They entered the hall and Hermione led them to Ginny Weasley; the redhead sat by herself, quietly munching on a sandwich. Hermione sat down next to the quidditch captain, who ignored her. Bellatrix sat down across and helped herself to some roast beef.

"Well, what did he do?" Hermione asked.

"Kept 'accidentally' brushing my leg and arm, and asking to go to Hogsmeade," Ginny said, still observing her sandwich, "I did warn him."

Julia smirked. Ah, so that's what's going on.

"Didn't you tell him Harry's going to be there?" Hermione asked. Bellatrix stopped mid-chew and paid rapt attention while simultaneously trying to not look like she was eavesdropping.

"No, and I have no regrets," Ginny said, looking up from her food with a sly grin.

Hermione chuckled at that.

"You're here early, taking a break?" Ginny asked.

"Actually, we've just wrapped something up and we're looking for Neville, have you seen him?" Hermione asked.

Ginny shook her head.

"Probably still in the greenhouses," she replied.

Hermione nodded.

"I need to head to the quidditch pitch, I'll come with, see how he's taking it," Ginny said.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"You didn't hear? He and Parks broke up yesterday," Ginny said.

The conversation continued on after that, and Bellatrix couldn't really follow along with the dating gossip because she was still stuck on the fact Potter would be in Hogsmeade this weekend.

"_Will Ron Weasley be there too?_" she thought, "_is this my opportunity to strike at the three of them?_"

She chewed thoughtfully and stared off into space while the other two girls continued chatting. Time had become a consideration ever since that Prophet article proclaiming Harry Potter had slain one of the Dark Lord's inner circle on Halloween. The longer she waited, the fewer allies they would have.

"_Am I really ready to take a shot at Potter? The damn half-blood survived the Killing Curse, twice. If that didn't work, how do I know another spell will?_" she thought, "_I'll only have one opening, and I haven't prepared nearly as much as I would have liked… but if I don't take this chance now, will there be another one?_"

"Coming Julia?" Hermione asked. Both she and Ginny were already on their feet.

Julia startled and scooped up a sandwich to devour on the way. She followed the other two out of the Great Hall onto the castle grounds and into the late November air. A stiff breeze blew grey clouds across an overcast sky, threatening rain or snow, and annoyingly sent her hair across her face. Julia brushed it back impatiently, then held her sandwich in one hand and dipped the other into a pocket of her robes where the cracked stone lay, running her thumb over the now familiar jagged edge. She knew it was important somehow; it carried the same symbol as that damn frame in the sub-basement, but she'd tried every activation phrase she could find, and nothing. She'd also scoured what books on symbols she could with the little spare time she had, but came up empty. Julia followed quietly as Ginny and Hermione chatted about Hogsmeade, and heard Ron Weasley's name, falling into step next to them to better hear.

"_So, all three of them will be together this weekend,_" she thought.

When they arrived at the greenhouses, they checked the fourth one first, the extra one Neville had co-opted to grow their requested magical flora in. As soon as they crossed the threshold into the warm, moist air though, Ginny thrust a hand out to stop Hermione. The sound of a gardening hoe tilling moist soil reached Bellatrix's ears and she looked to the far end of the greenhouse to see Neville Longbottom, stripped to the waist, a sheen of sweat on his muscled skin, working the neat rows and preparing them for planting.

"Shh," Ginny said as Hermione started to speak.

"Ginny, it's just Neville," Hermione whispered.

"Yeah, I know," Ginny said as she continued to stare. Bellatrix didn't blame her; Longbottom was in rare form, muscles flush and glistening with the effort of working the soil in the warm greenhouse.

"Are you mental, what about Harry?" Hermione whispered.

"Just because you're full doesn't mean you can't appreciate the view of a perfectly baked beef pie," Ginny replied.

"She's got you there, Granger," Julia said, giving Ginny a no-look quidditch fist-bump without taking her eyes off the specimen before them.

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed, then grabbed the front of their robes and dragged them across the greenhouse.

"Hi Neville," Hermione said loudly, and Longbottom looked up, then stood up straight.

"Hermione, Ginny, Julia, I wasn't expecting visitors," he said.

He leaned the silver-bladed hoe against a shelf and turned around to pull on a t-shirt. Now they were closer, Bellatrix could see thin white scars crisscrossing the skin of his back before the grey cloth slid over them, hiding them once again.

"_Was I responsible for any of those?_" she thought. She wasn't sure how she felt about the answer.

"Small change of plans, we need to switch some of the plants we're growing for spring," Hermione said, "the dittany, baneberry, and bloodroot are out, and we need to replace them with belladonna, niffler's fancy, shrivelfig, and perhaps a few others as well."

"Alright, shouldn't be too difficult," Neville said, furrowing his brow, "the niffler's fancy and shrivelfig should be ready by late winter, and the nightshade by early spring."

Hermione smiled.

"Thanks Neville, are you alright? I heard about you and Parks," she asked.

"Oh, yeah," Neville said, running a hand through his hair, "it just wasn't working out, you know?"

"If there's anything we can do…" Ginny said.

"Thanks, but I'm fine," Neville said with a forced smile, "or rather, will be fine. Just need to work through it is all."

Ginny nodded.

"I've got to get to the pitch, make sure everything's set for practice after class tonight," Ginny said, "see you there Julia. Feel better Neville."

They said their goodbyes and Ginny departed for the quidditch pitch.

"The seeds are just there," Neville said, pointing to a few boxes on the shelf, "we can plant them now; it'll go faster with three of us."

Hermione agreed and Julia quickly followed. They shed their outer robes and got to work, pushing bulbs and seeds into the warm, tilled earth. Bellatrix found something soothing and therapeutic about the repetitive working of soil, taking action that would result in new life, and at the end, looking up to see a completed row of planted seeds, ready to push up through the dark soil above them and into the light.

"_Hermione might not see these plants come to harvest, if you kill her first_," Bellatrix thought, and she shoved the sentiment away.

"_I HAVE to do this,_" she thought, "_for the life and love that was stolen from me. It's only right. MY right._"

"Julia, are you alright?" Neville asked.

"Hmm?" Julia asked.

"You look… worried," he said.

Julia frowned.

"I just hope this plan works," she said.

"Don't worry Julia," Hermione said, sounding almost like she was trying to convince herself, "the theory is sound, we just need to find the right combination of ingredients and method of putting them together."

Julia nodded, her train of thought thoroughly derailed.

"I've got Transfiguration, and I need to clean up first," she said, standing up and wiping her hands, "thanks for everything Neville, hope you feel better."

Neville looked like he was about to say something but then merely nodded and waved as Julia departed for the castle.

* * *

The following evening, Bellatrix sat in Winthrop's optional extra class along with the other volunteers. They'd been discussing the nature of artefacts, especially Dark artefacts, and Winthrop was as charismatic and passionate about the subject as ever, seemingly effortlessly drawing the class in and coaxing out their thoughts and reasoning. About three quarters of the way through the lesson, the professor stood up, walked to the cabinet, unlocked it, and produced a small ivory and gold music box with an old-fashioned iron turn crank in one side. He placed the box carefully on the large table at the front of the class.

"Does anyone know what this is?" Winthrop asked.

"Is it… does it put you to sleep?" Hermione asked.

Winthrop gave her an odd look.

"Very good Miss Granger, five points to Gryffindor," he said, "yes, the melody produced by this music box has an enchantment on it which will put any who hear it to sleep, eventually, from which they can usually only be woken by magical means, and only if the music is no longer playing. It is categorised as a class three Dark artefact by the Ministry, due to its potential for abuse. After all, it would be relatively simple to take advantage of a number of people who are sleeping and would not wake."

He looked down at the box, hand drifting over to the crank, but not touching it.

"Can anyone think of a good use for this?" he asked, "Miss Parks?"

She put her hand down as Winthrop called on her.

"If a surgery needed to be performed on someone, or if they were in pain somehow, this would ease their suffering," the Gryffindor prefect said.

Winthrop nodded and the girl smiled up at him, twisting a lock of her dirty blonde hair about a finger.

"Exactly, while some Dark artefacts can only be used for evil or destruction, most are tools, created for a purpose, often to be used in a ritual of some kind. True, some of them were simply torture devices or traps, but most were tools. Like any weapon or tool, when in the wrong hands, they can be used for nefarious purpose," Winthrop said, "and this is why the vast majority of dark artefacts are banned from sale, and the creation or even possession of them can result in serious penalties, or even incarceration. Fortunately for me and the school, this one is licensed."

A few chuckles bounced around the room.

The professor drew his wand from a pocket of his robes and placed it next to the music box.

"A powerful tool, when in the wrong hands, can be used to wreak havoc on an almost unimaginable scale," he said, gesturing to the wand on the table, "should we be denied these then? With just a wand, a powerful Dark wizard could do more damage than almost any artefact known. In the end, a wand is a tool, and reflects the will of its wielder, and I submit the same is true for most Dark artefacts. Your assignment is this, research an item classified as a Dark artefact, and come up with a positive use for it, and how the artefact might be regulated by the Ministry to ensure its safe use. Extra points for more dangerous or rare items. Submit your items to me for approval before you begin and we'll share our findings with each other before winter break."

Bellatrix finished scribbling down the assignment, rolled the parchment quickly and slid it into her bag. She already had several likely candidates off the top of her head and looked forward to the other students' findings, and Winthrop's thoughts. Dark artefacts always interested her and she held out hope at least one or two of her classmates would come up with something she'd never heard of before. At the very least, Winthrop always had a unique angle or tidbit of information to share.

* * *

The following Sunday, Bellatrix woke early and dressed quietly, so as not to wake the other two. Today, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were scheduled to visit Hogsmeade. Today could be her chance to erase all three of the Golden Trio in one single stroke. Nervousness tightened her stomach; six months of planning had led to this, but she didn't feel ready. Nevertheless, twenty minutes later, she emerged from the castle into the grey and overcast chilly November with the first group of students, but broke off in the courtyard, disillusioning herself and settling in to wait for Hermione and Ginny to depart.

"_Potter will be there,_" she thought as she found a comfortable spot between two pillars, "_Potter, who slew a basilisk alone at the age of twelve, won the tri-wizard tournament at fourteen. Duelled the Dark Lord and won._"

Bellatrix tightened her grip on her wand. Her stolen wand. What she wouldn't give to have her old wand back, but she'd no idea where it was.

"_I can't hit Potter with any direct spells, the others would be on me in an instant, not to mention any of his allies who happen to be nearby,_" she thought, "_I'll have to defeat all three of them at once, before they can draw their wands to fight back or apparate._"

Her stomach felt like one gigantic knot and every passing second only made it worse; she actually felt nauseous and her breakfast threatened to make a return appearance on more than one occasion as she waited. It seemed like hours before she spotted Granger, Weasley, and Neville Longbottom walking out of the front gates. She recast her disillusionment and silencing spells and tailed them all the way to town, staying well far enough back she wouldn't be detected. Once they were in Hogsmeade proper it became more difficult as she had to dodge around students and villagers who couldn't see or hear her.

"_At least it's not snowing,_" she thought. Snow would make it that much harder to move about undetected.

When her quarry entered the Three Broomsticks, Bellatrix cursed to herself. One glance through a foggy window and her fears were confirmed; the inside was far too crowded for her to enter and move about invisibly. Coming to a decision, she stepped to the side of the building, dropped her spells, then circled around to enter the front door.

Dozens of students sat or stood around the taproom chatting and drinking while Madam Rosmerta flitted about the room, serving beverages and nibbles. The bar kept itself occupied, magically dispensing butterbeer from barrels into empty mugs as needed and requested. Enough students filled the room so Julia couldn't see the far wall at all, and the warm air immediately began driving away the chill from her long wait and walk down from the castle. Bellatrix glanced around as she cruised about, searching for Hermione's distinctive hair, trying not to let the cacophony of dozens of relaxing students aggravate her already frayed nerves. Instead of Hermione, she spied Ron Weasley's distinctive ginger locks sticking out above the top of a booth, near the back. Bellatrix reversed direction and circumnavigated the bar again, ducking around and between students and drinks until she had line of sight directly at the table from about twenty feet away.

"_There they are! All three of them, sitting together!_" she thought in triumph and trepidation.

Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione sat no more than ten paces away, with Ginny and Neville. Bellatrix flicked her wrist, dropping her wand from the duelling holster into her hand. She had the element of surprise; none of them had their wands out.

Bellatrix casually leaned against the bar, against the back of one of the barrels.

"_An expulso or a confringo should do it,_" she thought, "_Maybe both, one followed up by the other. Then fiendfyre before anyone can help them if they somehow manage to survive. Fuck the town._"

Ron said something and the group smiled and laughed. Ginny had her hand on Harry's leg beneath the table and Julia watched as he placed his hand on top of hers. Disgusting.

"_But what if Potter senses or survives the attack somehow?_" she thought, "_I'll have to flee, and I'll never get another chance like this._"

Her wand hand quivered as a student passed between her and the table, obscuring her view for a few seconds.

"_If you don't strike now, you might never see the three of them together again,_" she thought, trying to goad herself into action, "_it's been three months already and this is the first time they've been together since September, on platform 9 ¾, and that was the first time they'd been together since May!_"

Bellatrix bit her lip to try and bring focus back to the whole reason she was here, putting up with going through seventh year again, befriending a filthy mudblood and a blood traitor, playing nice for everyone…

"_He took your one true love away from you, Bella!_" Bellatrix thought to herself, staring at the messy haired bespectacled young man, attempting to bolster her resolve.

"_Do it, raise your arm,_" she thought, as the Enemy turned away from her to hold Ginny's gaze for a moment, "_cast the spell!_"

She stared at Hermione, smiling up at the freckled redhead seated next to her before making some comment to Harry and Ginny.

"_Filthy mudblood!_" she screamed to herself, but her wand arm remained stubbornly by her side even as she clenched her jaw at how perfect Hermione's teeth were.

"_Do it now, Now, NOW!_" Bellatrix thought.

She started to raise her arm, just a few inches, but Neville picked that exact moment to cast his gaze about the room and caught hers. He waved to her almost frantically.

"Julia!" he said, calling her over.

She blinked, then stiffly walked over to the table, slipping her wand up her sleeve and back into her duelling holster.

"Hi," she said.

"Won't you sit down Julia? Can I get you anything to drink?" Neville asked, "Everyone, this is Julia White."

Julia looked at the empty spot next to Harry Potter, the Enemy, and slowly slid into the seat next to him, ignoring the wizard for a moment as she stared at Neville directly across the table.

"_Oh Merlin, if I'm found out now, I'm well and truly fucked,_" she thought.

"Yes please, Neville, something strong," Julia said.

She turned and alternated looking at Harry and Ron, who sat across from Ginny; both of them stared back at her curiously. The knots in her stomach now had knots as she looked into Potter's brilliant emerald eyes; the pictures really didn't do them justice. Julia practiced occlumency for all she was worth as she met their gazes.

"White, Julia White," Julia said as Neville raised his hand to get Rosmerta's attention.

"Weasley, Ron Weasley," Ron said.

"Just Harry is fine," Harry said with a smile, "so you're the transfer student I've heard so much about."

"Oh?" Julia said, her voice abnormally high, "and umm… what have you… what have you heard?"

"That you're helping Hermione with her project," Harry said, smiling, no doubt to lull her into a false sense of security, "all good things."

The Boy-Who-Lived furrowed his eyebrows slightly as he looked at her again, intently, searching, even as she kept her occlumency up as high as she could.

"_Who knows what he's was capable of,_" Bellatrix thought.

"Not just that," Neville said, "she's tutoring duelling for one of the students who was being bullied, and she's on the quidditch team too."

"Alternate chaser," Ginny said.

Ron made a small laugh.

"Anything you're not good at?" he asked.

"Umm, respecting incompetent authority figures," Julia said.

Hermione laughed just as she took a sip, and covered her nose with her hand, almost preventing the sweet liquid from leaking onto the table. That earned a round of chuckles around the table.

"Hope you're not talking about me," Ginny said, leaning over the table to look at Julia around Harry.

"I said incompetent, you actually know what you're doing," Julia replied. Ginny smiled at that but didn't have a response.

"We trounced Slytherin in the first match of the year," Neville said, "it was a massacre."

"You didn't say anything," Harry said, turning to Ginny.

"I wanted to tell you in person," Ginny said. The two of them leaned closer together, and apparently only had eyes for each other, sharing some silent communication as the conversation around the rest of the table stalled.

"Uhh, Harry, I heard you were in St. Mungo's after duelling Avery," Neville said, "what actually happened, are you okay?"

Harry looked back to Neville and had the good sense to look a bit embarrassed for ignoring the entire table.

"Sorry… Yeah, I'm okay. I don't really want to talk about it, honestly. It wasn't exactly a pleasant experience… no offense Neville," Harry said.

"No no, it's alright," Neville said.

Harry looked to Hermione.

"How is it, being back at Hogwarts?" he asked, changing the subject, "How's the project, is there anything we can do to help?"

Bellatrix's firewhiskey arrived then, floating over the crowd and settling neatly down in front of her, and they all raised their glasses.

"To Hermione's success," Harry said, and everyone followed suit.

The liquid burned Bellatrix's throat but she desperately needed it to take the edge off; she felt about two seconds away from snapping like a frayed rope with too much weight tied to it. Hermione launched into a breakdown of the various methods they planned to use to narrow down the type of brew and ingredients they would need, leaving out many of the finer details. Still, even with the simplified explanation, Bellatrix noted Ron's eyes glaze over almost immediately.

"_**This**_ _is one of the defeaters of the Dark Lord?_" she thought, "_Honestly, he could at least try to look interested._"

Hermione didn't appear to notice, engrossed in her explanation as she was.

"Same old Hermione," Harry said with a grin.

"Oh, sorry," Hermione said, shoulders slumping slightly, the wind gone out of her sails, "it's going well, as well as can be expected, at least."

Bellatrix felt something of a twitch in her chest at that. Looking at the resigned, slightly frustrated expression on Hermione's face, she guessed this type of dismissal was something that happened often.

"Oh!" Ron said, interrupting her train of thought and nearly spilling his butterbeer, "I almost forgot to tell you, we went clubbing, in muggle London."

"_You_ went clubbing," Hermione repeated, a somewhat incredulous expression on her face, "in muggle London. How in the world? Why?"

"The other trainees took us out as a sort of celebration, after Halloween," Harry said.

"Yeah, it was bloody brilliant," Ron added.

Hermione's mouth opened, slightly chagrined.

"What exactly was so brilliant about the nightclub, Ronald, do tell," Hermione said.

Ron squirmed a bit at Hermione's tone, but forged ahead anyway.

"_Bloody Gryffindor,_" Bellatrix thought.

"Well, they had really loud music, and this smoke that poured out near the stage, but not the choking kind, and these really thin lights in different colours-" he said.

"Lasers," Harry chipped in.

"Yeah, and dancing and drinks. It was loads of fun; I think you'd enjoy it," Ron said.

"_Pathetic blood-traitor, there's no way I'd be caught dead mingling with diseased, uncivilised muggles, much less boasting about it,_" Bellatrix thought.

Ginny looked vaguely interested and appeared to be carrying on another silent conversation with Harry, but Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.

"You know what I'm up against, Ronald," she said, "why in Merlin's name would you think I'd waste an entire night getting drunk and dancing in muggle London?"

Ron shrugged.

"You need to take a break sometime, come at it fresh maybe?" Ron said, "anyway I just thought if you wanted to do something muggle sometime, that's okay too."

He took a long swig and looked over to Harry.

"What do you think, Harry?" he asked.

Harry looked back at Ron, then to Hermione, then back at Ron.

"No comment," Harry replied with the easy smile of someone who faced down tenacious reporters on a regular basis.

He took another sip of butterbeer as Ginny chuckled next to him.

Ron huffed.

"Look Hermione, I just thought it was a good idea to do something muggle together so… you know you don't have to give it all up," Ron said.

That gave Hermione pause, and she looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Is that what this is about?" Hermione asked, "Ron, we don't need to do anything like that; I'm not worried about giving up muggle life, and besides, I think we'll be able to go into muggle London from time to time if we want to, no problem."

He perked up at that.

"You think so?" he asked.

"Sure," Hermione said, "once the project is done. Perhaps not a nightclub though."

Ron smiled and gave Hermione a peck on the lips then. Neville squirmed next to them somewhat uncomfortably, but to Bellatrix, the affection seemed completely out of character for the Hermione she knew.

"_Why in Merlin's name is she dating this idiot?_" Bellatrix thought, then a half-second later, "_and why in Merlin's name do I even care? I'm supposed to be killing all of them right now!_"

Bellatrix tossed her firewhiskey back in one gulp and looked down into the empty glass, then glanced back up at Hermione again, who still smiled at Ron Weasley, talking about something or other; Bellatrix couldn't hear over the buzz in her ears.

"_You royally cocked this up,_" she thought, "_the Dark Lord would be so disappointed_. _You had your chance to kill them, and instead you're thinking about stupid schoolgirl drama. Dirty blooded whore probably stole her magic from us, and we would be even more powerful if not for her and her kind, and here you are, sharing drinks and a table with her. She has to go, the whole lot of them need to be exterminated like the vermin they are!_"

She thought the words, but deep down she knew she was not being completely true to herself. Aside from her apprehension at ambushing and possibly duelling the wizard who'd defeated the Dark Lord, all the shadowing and chasing after and fighting alongside and spending hours upon hours with Hermione Granger had done something to her, and that was at least part of why she'd hesitated. She actually enjoyed spending time with her.

"_Did I accidentally break myself?_" she thought.

"Julia, are you alright?" Neville asked quietly.

Julia looked up at Neville and nodded once.

"-still think you would have a good time," Ron said.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but it was more of a resigned gesture this time.

"Alright Ronald, I'll… think about it," Hermione said.

"Brilliant, now that's settled, Ginny and I are going to go for a bit of a walk around town, we'll see you all later," Harry said, dropping several sickles on the table, "pleasure meeting you Julia."

Julia stood up to make way for them.

"Pleasure was all mine," she lied.

"Ron and I are going to make a move as well," Hermione said, "I'll see you in the lab later Julia."

"See you, Hermione. Weasley," Julia said.

"White, nice to meet you," Ron said. Both he and Harry waved to her as they departed.

"Practice tomorrow Julia, don't forget," Ginny said, taking Harry's hand, and Julia nodded, then watched as the quartet put their backs to her and left.

"Yeah, that was Harry Potter," Neville said from beside her, already having sat down again.

"Shorter than I expected," Julia said, sitting down across from him.

"Are you sure you're okay? You look a bit tense," Neville said.

"_That was my chance, and I fucked it up,_" Bellatrix thought, "_I couldn't do it. What's wrong with me?_"

"Just umm, a little in shock I suppose," she replied.

Neville nodded.

"Once you get past the great wizard and hero of our age thing, he really is a normal bloke," Neville said, "a good friend you know, once you get to know him, I mean."

Julia nodded. Even though Neville had tripped up his words a bit, she understood what he was trying to say, even if she didn't believe a word of it.

"I'm really glad you showed up, by the way, it was getting more awkward by the second," Neville said with a small chuckle, "I mean, when we were all in school it was just Harry and Ginny, and that was only sixth year, but now Ron and Hermione are together too and it was very much starting to feel like 'odd man out'."

"What happened with Parks, anyway?" Julia asked.

Neville looked at her, clearly weighing what he wanted to say, or how much to say.

"She's… she's lovely, don't get me wrong, just… she has a bit of a thing for… someone who wasn't me, and it got a bit uncomfortable hearing about him all the time," Neville said, "so I said good luck and that was that."

"Rude," Julia said, without explanation.

Neville nodded still with a bit of a glum look on his face.

"You're better off," Julia said, "you don't want to be with a twit who obviously can't even pretend to not be interested in someone else while she's dating you."

He looked almost insulted at that but simply nodded.

"So… Julia, any chance you and I…?" he asked.

Julia shook her head.

"Sorry Longbottom," she said, "don't get me wrong, you've got a lot going for you, but I'm more or less spoken for."

"_Plus that would definitely be an awkward conversation one day, 'remember when I tortured your parents into insanity? Because I don't_,'" Bellatrix thought.

"Oh, betrothed?" Neville asked.

"Something like that," Julia replied.

Neville nodded. He looked disappointed but did his best to put forward a stiff upper lip.

"Alright then, thanks for being honest," he said.

"Of course," Julia said, internally revelling in the irony that her entire life was a lie, "fancy another drink?"

"_What in the fuck are you doing? Ditch him and go get your head straightened,_" Bellatrix thought.

Neville nodded. They ordered another round and talked about quidditch and herbology before Julia managed to make an excuse and depart. On the way back to the castle, well before almost all the other students, her thoughts and emotions danced a discordant waltz around the ballroom of her alcohol buzzed mind.

"_The Dark Lord is waiting for me, counting on me to bring him back again,_" she thought, "_he's the most powerful wizard I've ever met, confident in the hallowness of the pure, the would-be saviour of our way of life, and he favoured me above all others, even more than Father or Uncle._"

Bellatrix wandered the deserted corridors, wand out, ruminating on her predicament.

"_But I failed to strike when the opportunity presented itself, what am I even doing here?_" she thought, "_if I had another chance, another five chances, would they turn out any differently?_"

Her thoughts turned to Hermione.

"_Then there's the girl I've committed to help discover a cure for one of the worst afflictions affecting witches and wizards,_" she thought, "_under false pretences, sure, but we're actually making progress."_

Bellatrix sighed in frustration and ground her fingers through her glamoured hair, pressing painfully into her scalp.

"_She's clever, perhaps even more clever than me, and that's saying something," _she thought, "_Plus anyone who can push themselves hard enough to end up passing out for two days has determination in spades._"

"_She's selfless, too, wants to help others and not be a burden to anyone,_" Bellatrix thought, "_why am I thinking so much about this?_"

"_It's because you've spent hours, days, getting into her head, and then alone with her,_" she thought, "_the stupid mudblood's grown on you._"

Bellatrix pushed into an empty classroom and sat down on the dusty professor's desk at the head of the class, thumping her heel into one of the wooden legs as she swung it back and forth.

It would be one thing if she were annoying or incompetent, but she was intelligent, quick-witted, possessed of dogged determination and wicked sense of humour, much like Bellatrix herself. If circumstances and her heritage had been different, they'd be allies, maybe even actual friends.

"_Am I betraying the Dark Lord by even having these thoughts?_" she thought.

Suddenly the room felt too constricting and she pushed back out into the hallway to roam the nearly empty school, eventually climbing steps to the 7th floor. She tried to recall Lord Voldemort's expressions, the sound of his voice, the aura of power he radiated. The gaze of the Dark Lord's deep brown eyes could almost pierce her soul, but now, so many months removed from the last time she'd seen him, her memories had started to fade, even as she desperately clung to them at night, in the privacy of her bed. Tears filled her eyes as she wandered, but she refused to let them fall.

"_Would he think less of me for my hesitation and inability to strike?_" she thought, "_I feel like I'm losing him,_ _is this what falling out of love feels like?_"

She found herself in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his dancing trolls, opposite the blank section of wall she knew led to the Room of Requirement.

"_I need a place to let off steam, I need a place to let off steam,_" she thought as she paced back and forth.

On her fourth time past the wall, a wooden door appeared and Bellatrix flung it open, ducked inside, and quickly closed it behind her.

To her left, the Room had created a practice arena with multiple wooden dummies to aim at, and to her right, a steaming bath on dragon claw legs, complete with scented oils, full length mirror, and a crackling hearth in front of a comfortable reclining chair. A thick blanket to ward off the chill of the stone castle lay draped across the back of the chair. She only hesitated for a moment before striding over to the target range. She would practice. She would practice and practice so next time an opportunity arose, she wouldn't hesitate.

"_Expulso!_" she shouted, thrusting her wand forward, and the full powered jet of blue light shot out, following the momentum of her movement and impacting a dummy, blasting it to pieces.

"_That should have been Potter!_" her mind screamed at her.

Bellatrix shifted her stance slightly and flowed neatly into the next spell.

"_Confringo!_" she said, and a blast of fiery orange flames blew apart another dummy.

"_That should have been Weasley!_" she thought.

Bellatrix spun into the starting position to cast fiendfyre but checked herself. Who knew if the room would be able to contain it if she lost control? A vision of Hermione unconscious and bleeding out amid the shattered table and wall of the Three Broomsticks came to her, and her stomach felt queasy at the thought of her blood pumping out onto the ground, muddy though it might be. She growled away her weakness and blasted another dummy to pieces with a silent reductor curse. Bellatrix continued like that, pulverising wooden dummies by twos and threes until her wand arm ached and her voice became hoarse. Round and round her thoughts went as she circled about the practice arena, from Lord Voldemort, to Hermione, to Potter and Weasley, until she couldn't make sense of anything anymore. Panting and near exhaustion, she banished one last dummy to smash against the wall, then trudged over to the bath, wand arm limp with fatigue. She tested the water with two fingers and found it scalding, just as she liked it. She quickly stripped nude and stepped in, relishing the shock of the almost too hot water as it spread over her skin, soothing her tired muscles. Bellatrix grabbed the scented oil nearest to her and, not even bothering to read the label, unstoppered it and poured the contents into the bath. Honey and lavender, acceptable. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, letting the bath work its magic as she breathed in the scented steam.

"_Fuck it all,_" she thought.

Slowly, a realization came over her as her muscles untensed. Somewhere between learning her schedule, her likes and dislikes, and her history, she'd ended up becoming friends with the little mudblood, as ludicrous as the idea sounded. But…

"_What if Hermione isn't actually a mudblood?_" she thought as her eyes snapped open, "_that would explain why she can keep up with me. And why I don't particularly want to kill her. Maybe today's screwup is my subconscious' way of letting me know._"

"_If Potter and Weasley died, that could drive Hermione even closer to me. I, we, could figure out the truth of her heritage; if she wasn't a mudblood, the Dark Lord might be forgiving, if I ask it of him. Yes, that will do,_" she thought, "_that will do. I need to find a way to kill them and not bring blame on myself…_"

An hour later, her mind still spinning but less so than before, she stepped out of the bath, dried herself with her wand, put her clothing and robes back on, and returned to the Great Hall for dinner. She ate mechanically, then trudged to her room in Gryffindor Tower. With the others still out, the deserted common room and dorm seemed unnaturally quiet, and she reckoned it would be for some time. She pulled off her boots and picked up the silk pouch from her trunk, sat on her bed, pulled the curtains closed, and set up wards as a precaution. Bellatrix slid to the centre of the bed and pulled her feet in to cross her legs. Reaching into the pouch, she rummaged around a bit and eventually pulled out a dark leather-bound book.

"Véritable amour," she said, unlocking the protection which would cause the book to be blank to anyone else attempting to read it. She flipped past a few pages, notes she'd written as she studied up on the history of the past thirty years. Eventually she came to a cover page of the Daily Prophet – 'Mass Breakout from Azkaban'. Below that, a picture of herself, older, in chains, screaming at anything and everyone. She ran a finger over the photo, still disturbed by how broken and deranged she looked. A few teardrop stains remained on the page from when Kreacher brought it to her the first time; she'd wept over what had happened to her. She'd suffered, oh how she'd suffered.

"_I MUST bring the Dark Lord back, or everything I've been through for him already would be for nothing,_" she thought, "_But can I convince him to let her live? Is there a way to make this work?_" Still unresolved after a nearly a full day of introspection, she eventually locked the notebook away again and fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

The following evening, after classes, Bellatrix joined Ginny and the rest of the team on the quidditch pitch as the captain put them through their paces, running drills and researching Hufflepuff, their next opponent. The sun dipped low as they started and they practiced in the chilly, late autumn air until it was too dark to see. Bellatrix showered quickly and waited for Ginny, as was now their habit. The two chasers made their way along the path back to the castle, their steps hard on the frozen dirt.

"How's the project coming along?" Ginny asked.

"Weren't you listening yesterday?" Julia asked, though it was obvious Ginny had had other things on her mind the previous day and hadn't paid attention at all. The redhead stayed silent and Julia sighed in frustration.

"Repairing the damaged memories was a dead-end, so we've settled on the rejuvenation path, mostly thanks to Hermione," Julia said, "she really is brilliant; I'm beginning to wonder if she's secretly half-blood or pureblood."

Ginny stopped, causing Julia to slow her steps and eventually turn to face the redhead, who by now was little more than a silhouette in the deepening darkness.

"_Lumos, _what's that supposed to mean?" Ginny asked, the tip of her wand lighting up her accusing stare.

_Oops…_

"You know," Julia said, trailing off and making a circular motion with her hand.

"No, I don't know," Ginny said, one hand moving to her hip, "care to explain?"

Julia huffed a sigh and rolled her eyes.

"Surely you've noticed, the muggleborns need to study twice as hard and practice twice as much to learn magic half as well as us," she said, realizing she was making a mistake even as she spoke, "it's not their fault; magic doesn't come to them as easily, but Hermione's not like that."

Ginny looked as if she'd smelled something distasteful.

"Only because we'd lived and breathed it for the first twelve years of our lives before coming to Hogwarts," she said, "they're playing catch-up the whole time. Hermione is more dedicated than anyone else, that's why she's earns top marks."

"I _did_ say she was brilliant," Julia mumbled.

"Yeah, for a…" Ginny said.

"_Mudblood_," Bellatrix thought.

"Muggleborn," Julia finished.

Ginny kept her mouth closed and frowned for a moment.

"Do you really think you're better than muggleborns?" she asked.

"_We,_" Bellatrix thought, "_WE are better than the mudbloods, all except Hermione. Why can't you see that?_"

Julia frowned as well. She didn't want to annoy Ginny any more than she already had.

"Let me ask you a question: Why aren't there any muggleborns on the team?" Julia asked.

"That's different," Ginny said, "none of them even saw a broom before they arrived at Hogwarts, and everyone playing quidditch goes through training and drills every year… so they get even better."

"And yet, lo and behold, when the Quidditch Cup is on the line, you picked only purebloods and half-bloods," Julia said.

"It's not the same," Ginny said, "anyone can try out, and the best players earn their spot on the team. If everyone had the same amount of practice and experience over their life-"

"Without exception, none of them are muggleborn," Julia said, "not even the alternates, on all four teams. Results matter."

Ginny shook her head.

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation; you really think you're better than people because of who your parents were?" Ginny asked.

"_Ooh, there's an opening," _Bellatrix thought, seizing on the opportunity to turn the conversation in her favour.

"I-…" Julia said, putting on a hurt expression.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry," Ginny said, shock and realization crossing her face before she covered her mouth.

Bellatrix shook her head, closed her eyes, sniffled and put up a hand, as if she were fighting back tears. Some of the struggle she'd been through the past day bubbled to the surface and she squeezed her eyes to force a single drop out, warm as it slid down her cheek. She heard Ginny move closer and sigh softly next to her.

"I'm so sorry Julia, of all people, I should know better. I didn't mean-.." the redhead said.

"It's okay," Julia said, opening her eyes and dabbing at them with the end of her sleeve, "yesterday was a really rough day and today…"

She sniffled, cleared her throat, and blinked away the tears.

"Anyway, I'm not saying all purebloods are better than muggleborns," Julia said quietly, "I'm sure you know some purebloods that are about one backfired charm away from being classified as blithering idiots, Merlin knows I do. I just-"

Ginny stayed quiet and waited for Julia to compose herself. Perfect.

"I can't help what I see," Julia said, "and the muggleborns all have more difficulty with magic, from theory through practice. All except Hermione, that's why."

"_And they're completely ignorant of what it means to be a witch or wizard, and they bring silly muggle notions with them, as if _they_ somehow know better than _we_,_" she thought.

A slightly frustrated look crossed Ginny's features.

"It's because they've started behind. But if you really believe what you see, then see this," Ginny said quietly, taking a half-step forward, "all of the most powerful wizards of the past century were half-blood. Grindelwald, Dumbledore, To.. Voldemort. If blood purity meant so much, they would have all been pureblood, or at least half of them, at least one of them."

"_The Dark Lord is NOT half-blood, you putrid blood traitor!_" Bellatrix's mind railed at her, but she kept quiet.

"I'll… think about that," Julia said.

Ginny nodded and kept walking, lighting the way with her wand, and Julia fell into step next to her.

"She can cast a patronus, you know," Ginny added softly, her tone even.

"I was there, Ginny, I saw it," Julia said, "And I told you already, it's not lack of magic that's stopping me."

She deliberately shoved her hands into the robes of her pocket and hunched her shoulders to drive her point home.

"_Bloody patronus charm,_" Bellatrix thought.

They walked quietly for a few moments after that.

"Why are you helping Michaels if he's as hopeless as you say?" Ginny asked, breaking the silence.

"_Because it earns me points with you and Hermione_," Bellatrix thought.

"I'm good at duelling," Julia replied, "and… just doing what Winthrop said, I guess. Perhaps Michaels will return the favour someday, and it _is_ a challenge."

"Merlin, is it a challenge..." she added with a mutter.

Ginny let out a half-chuckle at that. They walked for a few more moments in silence again, Ginny's wand lighting the way.

"Harry Potter's half-blood," Julia said as the castle loomed large ahead of them, "and he defeated…"

"_The Dark Lord,_" Bellatrix thought.

"You-Know-Who," Julia said, "Is he powerful like Dumbledore?"

"You were at the table with us yesterday, what do you think?" Ginny replied.

Julia made a 'pfft' sound.

"Come on, I met him for five minutes, but you're dating him," Julia said, "you never talk about him. What's he like?"

"He's not like he is in those silly children's stories, if that's what you're wondering," Ginny muttered, but didn't expand at all.

They arrived at the school, the first and second story windows lit with enchanted candles, casting golden light onto the grounds near the walls.

"Start me in the next match so I can have the trifecta: grades, duelling and quidditch?" Julia asked, trying to return to normalcy as they crossed the threshold into the school proper.

"_Nox. _ Better get some extra practice in if you want to beat out one of my wingers," Ginny replied as she doused her wand, "and get another broom, I haven't forgotten."

Bellatrix grumbled for effect as they reached the grand staircase and Ginny started climbing. Honestly, she couldn't care less about quidditch, but it was something Ginny could relate to, so it was always a safe topic with her. The redhead turned around and looked down as Julia stopped at the foot of the steps.

"Coming?" she asked.

"I'm going to the lab to check on a brew. I'll probably end up spending the night there," Julia said, "are we… are we okay?"

Ginny sighed heavily.

"Yeah," Ginny said, somewhat reluctantly, "you're an odd duck Julia, but you're helping Hermione, and Michaels, so…"

"If you have the ability to help someone at only a little cost to yourself, it would be wrong to withhold that aid," Julia said, parroting Winthrop.

Ginny nodded.

"Just… think about what I said," Ginny said, "I know I'm not going to change your mind overnight but…"

"You mean I'm not going to change YOUR mind overnight," Julia said, grinning.

"I'll think it over," she added.

Ginny nodded.

"Keep an eye on her, make sure she gets enough rest?" Ginny asked.

Julia nodded.

"Of course," she replied.

They said their goodnights and Ginny turned her back to head up to Gryffindor Tower, while Bellatrix descended to the dungeons and into the potions lab she now more often than not shared with Hermione. She opened the door to find the bushy haired muggleborn wearing a pair of safety goggles, holding metal tongs, heating a glowing crucible over a jet of flame shooting upwards from a small dragon's head shaped stone resting on the lab table. Bellatrix observed Hermione for nearly a minute, wondering if there really was any pure blood running through the other girl's veins.

"Removing the moisture from the powdered dragon claw?" Julia asked.

Hermione nodded without responding.

"Any reason we're not using a charm?" Julia asked.

"It needs to be as pure as possible. That means doing it the old-fashioned way to avoid any contaminating magic," Hermione said without looking away from the crucible, "there's another dragon's mouth over there and the satchel of dragon's claw is here."

She pointed to the closed jar on one of the other tables.

"When it's done evaporating, place it in the container on that table," Hermione said, pointing, "be careful not to overheat it, this was expensive."

Bellatrix picked up another set of tongs and a crucible, carefully depositing a small measure of powdered dragon claw into the receptacle. She stood at the far side of the table opposite Hermione and set up the dragon's mouth. After placing a pair of salamander eggs inside, she pressed the button on the stone and a flame sputtered at first until Bellatrix fiddled with the dial a bit, adjusting the fire until it spewed a steady pleasant golden orange. Then she carefully used the tongs to pick up the little ceramic container and hold it into the flames, relishing the satisfying whooshing sound as the bottom started to glow with the heat. As they were only able to dry small amounts at a time, it was slow going, and by the time she got to the third batch, sweat had already started to bead on her forehead. Bellatrix reached for her wand to cast a cooling charm but as she looked up, she saw Hermione and stopped, transfixed. The Golden Girl stared intently at her crucible to ensure uniform heating, hair as bushy as ever, but she had pushed her sleeves up in the heat, and for the first time, Julia understood why she always wore long sleeves. Carved into her forearm in angry red letters was the word 'BLOOD'. She'd seen cuts like that before, cuts that never healed properly… slices made with a cursed blade.

"Hermione," Julia whispered.

"Hmm?" Hermione said, following Julia's gaze, "oh bother."

She placed the crucible down on the table and started tugging her sleeve down.

"Wait," Julia said, pulling off her goggles and moving to Hermione's side. She gently lifted the girl's sleeve all the way up, watching her face for any signs of resistance, but Hermione didn't stop her, merely stared back with an apprehensive look. Julia glanced down.

'MUDBLOOD'

She looked back to Hermione's chocolate brown eyes, and the muggleborn had an unreadable expression on her face, almost wary, or worried. It was one thing to say all mudbloods were beneath them, or should be exterminated; it was quite another to witness clear evidence of torture on the body of someone she knew well, someone she respected.

"Please don't look at me like that," Hermione whispered.

Julia blinked.

"Who did this to you?" she whispered.

"It doesn't matter, she's dead," Hermione replied.

_She._

"Just… who was it?" Julia asked.

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if she were struggling with the answer.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Hermione replied as she opened her eyes again.

Julia shuddered and swallowed.

"_I did this?_" she thought.

"Why," she started, "why did she…"

Julia looked down at the angry red scars, a small smear of crimson marring the skin of Hermione's bicep where a drop or two of blood had recently wept from the wounds. They would never heal properly.

"You mean aside from the fact she was a deranged and sadistic psychotic bitch?" Hermione asked, "she wanted some information from me, and I wasn't telling, so…"

"I'm sorry," Julia said.

"Wasn't your fault," Hermione said, looking back to the crucible and tugging her sleeve down again.

Julia watched Hermione as she picked up the tongs again and focused on heating the powdered dragon's claw, but she ignored the gaze for nearly a minute until her wand vibrated on the table, giving Julia an excuse to say something.

"Time's up," Julia said, "lights out in fifteen."

Hermione nodded. She'd insisted on getting disciplined about sufficient sleep, and they were now on a strict schedule, giving themselves at least eight hours between lights out and first period. The two girls worked in silence, cleaning up the lab tables and packing away the remaining powdered dragon's claw, the recent revelation and exchange still heavy in the air. After using the public bathroom across the hall to wash up, they entered the tent set up on top of the lecturer's platform at the far end of the lab.

The inside of the tent was larger than the outside, of course, with a pair of bunk beds set up at one end, a small kitchen, a dining area with four wooden chairs, and a sitting room with a couch and coffee table. Designed to appear rustic, the chairs and beds were cosy and comfortable enough. Books of various sizes and thicknesses covered every inch of the kitchen table, some open and others with pages marked. They took turns changing, each turning her back while the other discarded her day clothes and slipped into comfortable pyjamas pulled from their respective expanded pouches.

"Night Julia," Hermione said, sliding between the sheets of the bottom bunk on the opposite side of the room.

"Night Hermione," Julia replied, setting an alarm charm and a ward, just in case, before placing her wand in a little hollow at the side of the bed. The lights dimmed and then extinguished themselves completely, leaving only a small shaft filtering through the front flap of the tent.

"Julia," Hermione whispered from the other side of the room, "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"It's okay, its…" Julia started, but she trailed off because she hadn't even come to terms with what the carved flesh meant to her yet.

"I just… I don't want people to know," Hermione whispered, "they might think I'm damaged, or something."

"I won't tell," Julia said.

"Thank you," Hermione said, "night Julia."

Sleep did not come for Belaltrix, and she lay awake in the bunk for over an hour as her mind churned, a whirling maelstrom bouncing thoughts off the inside of her skull. She pulled her pillow over her head, trying to shut out the echoes of voices vying for supremacy, those of her parents and the Dark Lord, hammering the superiority of her blood, and Ginny's and Winthrop's words, pushing for judgement by ability, and Hermione herself, the genius (probable) muggleborn who she'd just found out had been tortured by her own hand. She could almost _actually_ hear Hermione's voice crying, and Bellatrix pulled the pillow down even tighter.

"No, please," Hermione said.

Hang on.

Bellatrix sat up and looked over to see Hermione tossing in the grips of some nightmare again. Quietly, she cancelled her wards and padded over to Hermione's bed, partially to make sure the mudblood didn't have her wand again; no need for a repeat of her first night at Hogwarts and have the tent burn down around them. Bellatrix breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it safely tucked in a cubby next to the bed.

"We found it, I swear," Hermione whispered, a pained expression on her face.

Bellatrix looked down at Hermione; even in the dim light, she could see sweat already staining the pillow and Hermione's purple pyjamas. Suddenly Hermione arched her back, mouth open in a silent scream, and her hand clenching and unclenching. Julia knelt down and, before she fully realized what she was doing, slipped her hand into Hermione's and gripped it tightly. Cold sweat slipped against her palm as Hermione gripped back, still stuck in her nightmare, which Bellatrix strongly suspected was reliving whatever torture she'd inflicted on her during the war. Hermione collapsed back onto the bed, panting, limbs trembling, while Julia shook her head.

"I'm sorry," Bellatrix whispered, "I'm sorry. Fuck."

For minutes she stayed like that, whispering comforting words to Hermione as she held and stroked the girl's hand. Slowly, Hermione settled into a peaceful sleep, but every time Bellatrix tried to withdraw her hand, Hermione gripped it tighter. So, Bellatrix twisted around to sit on the ground, leaning back against the bunkbed, eventually letting her head rest against the edge of the bunk and drifting off to the sound of Hermione's deep breathing.

"Julia?" Hermione said softly, waking her in the darkness some time later.

By the sting of her eyes it was still very early morning.

"Hmm?" Julia asked, craning her neck around to face Hermione, still half-asleep.

"What are you doing?" Hermione whispered, curiosity in her voice.

"Oh, umm," Julia said, extricating her hand from Hermione's and turning to face her, "you were having a nightmare and… well it seemed to help."

"Oh," Hermione said, "thanks. Sorry. That's a bit embarrassing."

She gave off a nervous chuckle and Bellatrix could practically feel the heat of Hermione's blush radiating off her cheeks. Whispering in the darkness, Bellatrix felt an unspoken confidence, like she could tell Hermione anything and be taken seriously and their secrets, shared within this tent at night, would never be spoken or even thought of in the outside world. Nobody would know, not her father, not the Dark Lord… nobody.

"It's not," Julia said, "clearly you were... traumatised."

"_By me,_" she thought.

"Still, I won't tell anyone," Julia said, "but it's common, isn't it? To have nightmares after?"

"Yes, it is," Hermione said, twisting her pyjama shirt a little, "doesn't make it pleasant. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be normal again, like I was before."

Hermione stared up at the bottom of the bunk above hers and sighed.

"_Say something, you moron,_" Bellatrix thought.

"Well, I didn't know you before, I only know you now, and you're pretty brilliant. And… and I'm glad we're… friends?" Julia whispered, apprehension leaking out despite how hard she tried to convince herself she didn't care what Hermione Granger thought of her.

Hermione looked back to her and nodded, smiling slightly, white teeth clearly visible in the darkness of the tent.

"Friends. Honestly, I'm thankful you transferred in this year Julia," she said, "and I appreciate your… help, tonight. Though next time you might just wake me up."

Bellatrix's brain stuttered. Idiot.

"Oh, right, wake you up," Julia said, feeling a bit foolish, "in my defence, I was half-asleep and I had no idea what was going on."

Hermione snickered.

"Still, thank you," Hermione said, growing serious again.

"You're welcome," Julia said as she picked herself up off the floor and returned to her bunk, yawning as she slipped beneath the covers again.

"See you tomorrow," she whispered.

"Night Julia," Hermione said.

* * *

The following morning, they didn't speak of the previous night's events, and the week passed more or less routinely for Bellatrix, breezing through classes, writing essays on material she'd already covered the year before, and spending time with Hermione in the lab, methodically narrowing down the possibilities they'd outlined. Deep down, Bellatrix knew she was stalling for time. She didn't really have a plan aside from figure out a way to kill Potter and Weasley and not get caught, so she went through the motions of her fake life, one class, one day at a time. As she descended the steps on her way to the Great Hall for lunch, she idly fingered and flipped the jagged stone as she wondered whether Hermione or Ginny would be there today. After seeing the scars, Bellatrix knew exactly what she was going to give Hermione for Christmas. How odd life was. What would Father say if he knew she'd become friends with a (possible) mudblood?

"_You murdering bitch!_"

Bellatrix tripped and fell four steps onto the next landing, slamming her elbow fairly hard on the stone, but she flicked her wrist and snapped her wand into her hand, rolling over and pointing it back up the steps at some poor third year Hufflepuff who practically dove out of the way. Wild-eyed, she scanned for the source of the voice, her father's voice, but only students' concerned stares greeted her over the tip of her wand.

"What the fuck?" she whispered, still lying on her back.

"White? Are you okay?" asked some Gryffindor girl whose name she hadn't bothered to learn.

Bellatrix turned and pointed her wand at the girl, who flinched away.

"_The stone! You were fiddling around with the stone!_" Bellatrix thought.

She sprang to her feet, felt inside her pocket to make sure the stone was still there, gathered her fallen books, and sprinted up the stairs. She didn't stop running until she reached the 7th floor corridor. She paced back and forth in front of the blank section of wall, heart racing from her exertions and her discovery.

"_I need a place to hide, I need a place to hide,_" she thought.

When the door appeared, she pushed through and slammed it shut behind her, locking it with a loud clunk of rolling tumblers. Bellatrix turned around to find what appeared to be a basement or dungeon with magical torches lining the walls, the orange and yellow flames casting eerie shadows. A wooden table and chair sat in front of a hearth, and a small bed sat in the corner. The room wasn't very large, but it was sufficient for her purpose. She took five steps to the table and pulled the stone from her pocket.

"_I want to talk to my father,_" she thought, looking at the dark stone resting in the palm of her hand, "_I want to talk to my father._"

Nothing happened, and she tried a few more times, with the same result. What had she done differently? She ran her fingers over the familiar grooves and edges of the cracked stone… she'd been flipping it over. Bellatrix turned the stone in her hand a few times.

"_I should have killed you._"

"Father," Bellatrix said, looking up to see the image of her father Cygnus Black the third, standing near the bed. More substantial than the ghosts of Hogwarts, but definitely not human, his dark hair was combed back in the style he typically wore in life, and his pressed dress robe was easily visible down to the smallest detail. His eyebrows formed a single line as they came together in an expression of pure hatred as he looked down at her. Bellatrix instinctively shrank back a half-step, then tightened her grip on her wand and forced herself to stand her ground.

"Your own daughter? Why?" Bellatrix asked.

"_Because you drugged me then slit my throat while I was sleeping! Ungrateful whore!_" he said.

Bellatrix's eyes widened.

"I would never," she said, "Don't get me wrong, I hate you for what you did to me, but I would never kill you. Tojours pur, Father."

"_Ha!_ _Look,_" her father said, lifting his chin up and using his hands to open the gaping wound in his neck, "_look upon what you wrought!_"

"I did that? Why? Why would I do that?" Bellatrix asked.

Cygnus let his neck wound close again.

"_I disagreed with the Dark Lord, told him open warfare would result in too much pure blood spilled, and I had my brother's ear. I should have known better, he sent my own daughter to kill me,_" Cygnus said.

"No," Bellatrix said, shaking her head.

"_I set you up with an excellent match despite the madness consuming you, and this is how you repaid me, by whoring yourself out and killing your own father,_" he said, "_I hope you burn to death, slowly._"

Bellatrix tilted her head forward and looked through her eyelashes at the shade of her father.

"I'm not mad," Bellatrix whispered, "and if I sought comfort outside of marriage, it's because _you_ set me up with the wrong man. I love the Dark Lord, and he loves me. He saved me from death, and now I will save him. It's destiny."

The ghostly figure of her father walked closer and studied her for a moment.

"_Release me," _he said, "_I do not wish to look upon your face any more. Do not summon me again._"

Bellatrix let the stone slip between her fingers to clatter onto the table and the image of her father vanished. She leaned forward and planted her palms on the table, forehead furrowed and breaths coming in shuddering gasps.

"I'm not crazy," she said, "I'm not."

"_You're talking to yourself,_" she thought, "_and your dead father._"

"Shut up," she replied to herself.

After nearly a minute she stood up straight and picked up the stone again. Apprehensively, she thought of the wanted poster of her older self.

"_Bellatrix Lestrange, I want to speak with Bellatrix Lestrange,_" she thought, turning the stone over in her palm. Nothing happened.

"_Bellatrix Black?_" she thought. Nothing.

Bellatrix heaved a sigh of relief.

"_Mother, I wish to speak with Mother,_" she thought, turning the stone over again. The image of Druella Black faded into view, the lines on her face deeper and more numerous than Bellatrix remembered, her blonde hair pulled back in a French braid, and wearing one of the dark long-sleeved dresses she favoured in life.

"_Bella,_" she said.

"Mother," Bellatrix said, going to hug the woman, but passing right through her instead. She stepped back and looked at her mother's face.

"_You're so beautiful,_" Druella said, _"pity you're such a complete and utter disappointment._"

"What?" Bellatrix asked.

"_I said you were a disappointment,_" Druella said, "_out of all of my daughters you showed the most promise, but over ten years of marriage, you couldn't be bothered to produce a single child._"

"I was married to Rodolphus Lestrange," Bellatrix said, as if that were an explanation.

"_He's the heir of a noble and pure line, and it is your duty to continue his line and ours,_" Druella said, "_at least Cissy had the sense to bear a child before I passed and bring me some small comfort._"

"Mother," Bellatrix said, resolving to change the subject as a thought popped into her head, "there was a sub-basement below our cellar and vault, did you know of it?"

"_Yes, of course,_" Druella replied.

Bellatrix's heart skipped a beat in anticipation.

"Down there, I found a dark metal frame with this symbol built into the top of it," Bellatrix said, holding up the stone, "do you know of it?"

"_Yes_, _it's called the Aevum,_" Druella replied.

Bellatrix's eyes widened and she waited for her mother to continue.

"Well, what is it?" Bellatrix asked.

"_I don't know,_" Druella replied, "_it was brought from the Continent by my aunt just before I came of age, and given to my father. I only overheard bits of their conversation, what it was called, that it was important or dangerous somehow, and that he was to keep it secret. When he died, the Aevum passed to me, and I kept it in the sub-vault, hidden._"

"The Aevum," Bellatrix muttered. It wasn't much, but it was something.

"What else do you know about it?" she asked.

"_That's all I know, Bellatrix,_" Druella said.

Bellatrix looked down at the table for a moment.

"What about this symbol, do you know what this symbol is?" Bellatrix asked, holding up the stone again.

"_Yes, that's the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, from Tales of the Beedle Bard,_" Druella replied, "_I read it to you and your sisters when you were young._"

Bellatrix scoffed.

"The children's stor-" she started, but the next words died on her lips as she recalled some of the details of the tale of the three brothers, specifically of a stone that could allow someone to speak with the dead. She looked up at her mother's face again, wide-eyed, then down at the unassuming rock in the palm of her hand.

"_The Resurrection Stone,_" she thought, "_it's real?_ C_ould I talk to anyone? Wait wait, Mother is right in front of you._"

"What is it like, Mother, on the other side of the Veil?" she asked.

"_I… I'm not sure, I can't quite remember,_" Druella said, a peaceful, wistful expression crossing her face, "_I only feel I should return. I don't like being here; I don't belong. It's not my place anymore. Let me go back, Bella, please?_"

Bellatrix nodded.

"Goodbye Mother," she said, releasing the stone. The image of her mother vanished, and she fought the urge to pick up the stone and summon her back despite her harsh words. Her hand trembled as she turned the stone over again.

"_Lord Voldemort, let me speak to the Dark Lord,_" she thought. Over and over she turned the stone, but when she opened her eyes, the space in front of her remained blank, "_Tom Riddle Junior?_"

Nothing.

"_Damn, how does the stone work, will it only summon blood relations?_" she thought, "_Sirius Black, I want to speak to Sirius Black._"

Nothing.

"_Regulus Black,_" she thought.

She watched as the shade of a teenaged boy, nearly a man, with thick locks of dark hair faded into view. He wore dark flowing robes with purple trim, much older and taller than the pre-Hogwarts boy she remembered. One look at his eyes though, and she knew it was her cousin who stood before her.

"_Bellatrix,_" he said, curiosity in his expression.

"Reggie," she breathed, "you grew up."

"_Almost, but not quite,_" he replied, "_you're younger than I remember._"

"I'm not sure how," Bellatrix said, suddenly recalling something Kreacher had alluded to, "do you remember how you died?"

"_Yes, the Dark Lord killed me,_" he replied.

Bellatrix swallowed.

"Why?" she asked.

"_I didn't like what we were doing, or what I'd become. I resolved to destroy the Dark Lord,_" he replied, "_but he found out._"

"You joined the Dark Lord then turned traitor? You deserved it then," Bellatrix said.

"_Yes, I did. I swore an oath and I betrayed that oath, but I have no regrets,_" he said, "_Bella, it's not too late for you._"

Bellatrix snorted.

"Why would I turn my back on the Dark Lord? I love him, and I'm going to bring him back to life again so we can be together," Bellatrix said.

She dropped the stone just as Regulus raised his hands, probably to tell her not to, and he vanished before he could say another word.

Bellatrix picked up the stone again, turning it over and thinking as hard as she could.

"_Lord Voldemort, please,_" she thought, but when she opened her eyes, his shade had not appeared. She sighed, eyes wet with frustration. She was so close! Bellatrix glanced around the barren room, once, twice… then she caught sight of an odd shaped shadow on the wall. Hope grew in her as she stepped closer; with the placement of the torches, the shadow should not have been there… the patch of darkness vaguely resembled the profile of a man.

"My Lord?" she whispered.

She strained her ears, barely hearing a sighing whisper in response.

"_Yes Bella my dear, it is I,_" he replied.

Love bloomed in her chest at the sound of his voice, even as subdued as it was, and she unconsciously exhaled in rapture. She smiled as the dungeon suddenly became the most beautiful room in all the world, now that she and her love occupied it together. How could she ever have questioned the depth of her feeling? Tears of joy left tracks down her cheeks as she sniffled. The stupid mudblood was nothing but a distant memory next to even the shadow of her Lord. She would never waver again.

"My Lord, how I've longed to hear your voice," she said, her own voice quavering, "I…I have a plan to dispose of Potter, but I'm worried all might be for nothing if…. do you know of a way to bring you back from the other side?"

"_Of course, my most loyal and capable Bella,_" the Shadow whispered, "_forget the boy, I will deal with him personally, along with all those who have betrayed me._"

"Yes my Lord," Bellatrix said, eyes wide as she basked in the presence of her love.

"_Come, Bella dear, we have work to do," _the Shadow whispered as it slithered towards the exit.

"Whatever it takes, my Lord," Bellatrix said.

"_So long as we can be together again,_" she thought, faithfully following along in its wake, clutching the stone tightly as she slipped her fist into her pocket.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Chapter 14

Hermione tapped her quill at the top of a blank piece of parchment as she waited for Professor Collins' Transfiguration lesson to begin. The tip of her quill drifted absently across the parchment in front of her, doodling a random pattern as her mind drifted back to last Hogsmeade weekend and the extended snogging session with Ron. They'd never really had much in the way of alone time, so the physical attention and affirmation of their status was definitely a long time coming. Although he'd pressed for more, she'd stopped him at cupping her breast through her robes. The whole time, a small part of her mind focused entirely on the scars that ran down nearly her entire left arm.

"_Apparently, I'm more self-conscious than I'd realized,_" she thought, absently rubbing them through her robes.

Still, the few hours they'd spent alone together had been an enjoyable and welcome distraction from the project's constant demands. A little worry rat gnawed at her as she second guessed herself for not going further.

"_We barely see each other as it is,_" she thought, "_would he look elsewhere?_"

She chewed on her lip for a few seconds.

"_If he leaves you because of that, you're better off,_" Hermione thought, trying to convince herself.

Still, that little rat persisted. She knew she wasn't the prettiest, and most people didn't really appreciate her sense of humour. She'd heard it all, bossy, swotty know-it-all… truth be told, outside of Ginny and Neville, and Julia, she'd barely spoken to the other students.

"_Partially it's because almost everyone gives me a fairly wide berth these days,_" she thought, "_but also because I simply don't have that much in common with most people. And I suppose the reverse is true._"

She huffed to herself and did her best to banish the train of thought from her mind.

"_These are all just distractions,_" she thought, "_you know what you need to do, and you know how long you have to do it. You have more important things to focus on._"

She nodded to herself just as Professor Collins entered. Fair-skinned and given to changing her appearance, today she sported fiery red hair, too bright to be natural, and brilliant green eyes behind blue-rimmed glasses. Her stylishly cut robes subtly shifted and shimmered as she moved, from deep purple to almost pink and back again.

"Good evening class," she said, Scottish brogue ever so slightly present, colouring her accent. She pulled a parchment from the brown leather satchel she carried and began calling roll.

"Here," Hermione said as the professor reached her name. Collins wasn't as experienced of a Transfiguration professor as McGonagall, but those were big robes to fill. Still, she'd achieved a mastery in the subject, and she was a registered animagus, so she had credentials. She was also a bit more engaging than her predecessor. One lesson, they'd broken into teams and played a game like charades, except it was transfiguring a small tree branch into whatever their teammates were supposed to guess. McGonagall would have never in a hundred years allowed something like that, but it stood out as one of the most creative and immersive lessons Hermione had taken part in.

"Put your books away," Collins said as she finished calling roll, "tonight we'll be going through introduction to Alchemy."

Hushed whispers broke out among the class.

"You could spend an entire decade studying Alchemy and still have much more to learn, so we'll only be covering the basic theories this week," she said.

The groan of disappointment from the class echoed Hermione's own feelings. Alchemy was an enigmatic branch of magic and the only known method to achieve immortality. The fact only one alchemist in all of history had actually succeeded in creating the Philosopher's Stone did not stop ambitious witches and wizards from trying to recreate Flamel's magnum opus year after year.

"Alchemy is a distinct sub-branch of transfiguration in that it encompasses transformation, but there are vast differences to the point we might as well consider it an entirely separate discipline," Collins said.

She drew her wand and waved it over a quill sitting on her desk.

"Whereas most spells focus magic from a witch or wizard through their wand to bring about change in the natural world," she continued, waving her wand in circles and slowly transfiguring the quill into metal goblet, "alchemy works differently."

"Unlike transfiguration, where we use our own magic to directly effect the change, alchemists attempt to draw and channel the inherent dormant magic in specific substances and also harness the ambient magical energies of the world," Collins said, "in this way, the alchemist acts as a conductor to the change, in both the sense of channelling the magic, and guiding it."

"_Oh, that could be problematic,_" Hermione thought.

"Can anyone see an issue with that?" Collins asked, "Miss Granger?"

Hermione put her hand down.

"Because everyone's magic is slightly different, and ambient magical energy around the world and within substances can also vary slightly due to several factors, the exact same procedure conducted by two different alchemists or even the same alchemist in two different locations might have varying results," Hermione said.

"…which would explain why nobody's been able to recreate the Philosopher's Stone," she muttered.

"Well reasoned, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor," Collins said, "because of this, despite alchemists often working together, advanced alchemy is still very much a solitary pursuit, unique to each individual practitioner. This is why it is so difficult to replicate the more spectacular alchemical feats of the past."

With a flourish of her wand, Collins began illustrating a few diagrams on the blackboard.

"With that in mind, let us start with the three alchemical principles: common salt, quicksilver, and brimstone…" Collins said.

Hermione took copious notes on the subject on the off chance she might have to make use of some of the tenets of alchemy for her project. Though armed now with a full five pages in her neat, small script, she could tell they were merely scratching the surface of a many layered onion, just enough to release a tantalizing scent of the secrets within.

"And that concludes today's lecture," Collins said, marking the end of the period, "twelve inches on the alchemical properties of the three principles, and the most common methods of purifying them, due next session."

Hermione stood and waited through the sound of scraping chairs and chattering students, until the rest of the class had departed.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Collins said as she closed her satchel.

"Professor, I thought today's lecture was quite informative; you seem to have a great deal of experience with Alchemy," Hermione said, attempting to butter her up a bit, "I was wondering, how much practical experience have you had?"

"I dabbled a little bit over the course of my mastery," Collins replied, "theoretically, I know enough to keep us busy through June if we didn't have NEWTs to prepare for, but practically, I found it a bit too unpredictable for my tastes. Why do you ask?"

Hermione considered for a moment not saying why but then forged ahead, risk of embarrassment notwithstanding.

"I'm sure you've heard about the project I'm working on?" she asked.

"Right, obliviation," Collins replied, picking up her leather satchel in one hand, "I don't know if alchemy is going to help you there. I'm not saying it's impossible, it's simply not really well suited. Then again, I'm hardly an expert, so it might be worth exploring if all else fails."

Hermione nodded.

"I see, thank you Professor," Hermione said.

Collins nodded and departed, no doubt feeling the inquiry was a waste of time, while Hermione slowly packed her ink and quills, lost in rumination.

"_Not much help there…_ _It's another long shot, but if an easy obliviation cure already existed via Alchemy, someone would have discovered it already,_" she thought.

Hermione emerged from the classroom, her mind brimming with the information Professor Collins had imparted, and her own thoughts about how Alchemy might apply to her project. Her stomach growled hungrily, reminding her she needed to eat in order to function, and she looked forward to dinner in the Great Hall and getting back to the lab. As she walked the corridor, however, she heard a bang and shouting from ahead. Quickly drawing her wand, she ran to the Grand Staircase and stopped, her mouth dropping open as a scene of pure chaos greeted her. Brightly coloured spellfire zipped across her vision from multiple levels, to and from the Grand Staircase. Ahead of her, no less than two dozen students ducked in and around the moving steps and corridors, using the banisters for cover as they hurled curses and insults at each other. Frost and ice covered one of the stairwells as it swivelled, causing students to slip and slide dangerously close to the bottom step and a three-story drop. Debris already littered the ground level and the floor in front of her. Even as she watched, chunks of masonry that had been blown off in front of her were transfigured into a half-dozen small brown dogs and sent at other students. About twenty summoned yellow canaries circled around, divebombing students at random before flying back up to search for another target. Above it all, Peeves flew about cackling with glee and throwing what looked like vials of Quik-E-Stik Glue to smash on the steps and ground for unsuspecting students to stumble into.

At first glance, it appeared to be more or less evenly matched with students from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw trying to take down what appeared to be most of the upper class Slytherins. Pockets of students in twos or threes duelled, some of whom were on the central stairs and a few other groups on balconies or peeking out of corridors. From fifteen feet away, Hermione heard a curse and turned to see Tracey Davis banish a Gryffindor student into the wall with a sickening thud, the impact powerful enough to dislodge a portrait to fall on top of him where he lay still.

"_Expelliarmus,_" Hermione shouted, sending Davis' wand clattering to the ground and over the lip of the landing to fall to the ground, far below. The Slytherin prefect looked over to her and glared.

"Fuck you Granger, I knew it was all talk," Davis snarled.

"_Frigus Glacio!_" someone shouted at Tracey. Wandless, it was all she could do to put an arm up to block the blue beam from hitting her in the face. The spell blasted across her limb as it froze from the inside out. Tracey shrieked in pain and fell back against the wall, cradling her completely iced over arm and hand, hand and fingers a bluish white colour that turned to white as frost formed on her skin.

A bludgeoning curse flew at Tracey, and Hermione acted without thinking.

"_Protego!_" she said, deflecting the spell harmlessly away from Davis and moving to stand in front of her and protect her from further attacks as the Slytherin prefect crawled on one hand and two knees into the nearest alcove.

"_That could have shattered her arm!_" Hermione thought. She looked to see the source of the bludgeoner and spied a pair of dark-haired Ravenclaws on a nearby staircase, one girl and one boy, fifth years, by the look of them. They looked back at her apprehensively.

"_Expelliarmus, Petrificus Totalus, Impedimenta_," Hermione said, rattling off one spell after the other before falling back into Winthrop's training and moving to wordless spells. She petrified and disarmed them quickly enough and pocketed their wands. The melee around had only grown more ferocious but she could barely hear it over the voice of her own indignation as she stared at the shouting and running students. She didn't see any teachers or anyone from Dumbledore's Army; it was mostly younger students against the Slytherins, ones who probably wouldn't have fought in the battle.

She stalked up the stairs, petrifying and disarming Slytherins and non-Slytherins alike as she went.

"_After the hell I've been through the previous year, how can they possibly want to go right back at it?_" Hermione thought, but the evidence shot straight at her face as she shielded against a poorly aimed stunner meant for someone else.

"Sorry Granger!" someone said, "wasn't aiming for you!"

"_Expelliarmus! Flipendo!_" Hermione countered, blasting whoever it was straight over a banister.

"_Arresto Momentum!_" she added, stopping a dangerous fall.

She pocketed that wand too. They were intimidated by her, students ran when she approached, and she found she liked it. They _should_ run.

"_They _should_ be scared,_" Hermione thought as she continued wading through the students, moving from one group to the next, "_Voldemort's gone but this is exactly the kind of idiocy that led to his rise in the first place."_

She dodged a spell and countered with a bludgeoning hex of her own, sending another wand clattering to the ground.

"_Accio,_" she thought, summoning the wand to her free hand and pocketing it before moving on to the next group of students, "_Why are they still fighting? Not even a year out and they're trying to kill each other, are we doomed to repeat history over and over? No. It stops now! They need to stop! Why don't they see reason? Why? Why? Why!_"

"Why?!" Hermione shouted.

"I'm sorry!" Eric Wildy cried, hands held out in front of him, as she pinned him against the corridor wall with her wand, a foot off the ground, "I didn't mean to ruin your lab, I'm sorry!"

Hermione exhaled sharply and dropped Wildy to the ground where he crumpled into a heap. She looked around and recognized a fourth-floor corridor, well away from where the fight had been. The sound of duelling had ended and realization dawned on her; she wasn't sure how long ago it had stopped. She glanced down to Wildy, who hyperventilated as he stared back with a near panicked expression.

"_He's not wearing frilly pink clothing anymore,_" she noted.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied cautiously, drawing out the response, "are you?"

Hermione nodded, her mind elsewhere. She reached down and helped pull the lanky redheaded Gryffindor to his feet.

"So… are you still angry with me?" Wildy asked. Hermione looked back to him.

"I'm not angry," Hermione replied.

"Could have fooled me," Wildy muttered.

"Why was everyone fighting, anyway?" Hermione asked, feeling unnaturally calm and looking back to the Grand Staircase.

"Oh, that prick Michaels jinxed us from behind, and when we went to get him back a whole bunch of other snakes joined in, and then everyone else joined in," Wildy replied, "it was crazy, I've never seen anything like it."

"Hopefully you never will again," Hermione said quietly, still glancing around the otherwise deserted corridor.

"I think you hexed more people than anyone else," Wildy said, and Hermione looked at him.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," he added quickly, holding his hands up again, "but you were hexing and cursing everyone; whose side are you on?"

Hermione frowned. The entire fight after the attack on Tracey was a blur. She remembered taking two students' wands and reached into her pocket to find nearly a dozen stowed there.

"I'm on nobody's side," she said, "fighting's not allowed in the corridors, and this stupid house rivalry is just that, stupid. We fought a war last year, or have you forgotten?"

"Yeah, and the damn snakes were all with Him," Wildy said, "they should be expelled, just like McGonagall locked them in the dungeons during the battle."

Hermione paused and looked up at Wildy, debating how best to handle this.

"Listen to what you're saying," Hermione said, "a quarter of the students admitted to the school shouldn't be allowed a magical education because of where the Sorting Hat put them. It's the _exact_ sort of thing the blood supremacists were saying about _me." _

Wildy looked somewhat cowed at that, but then stood up straight.

"Yeah, but we're Gryffindors, we're supposed to show the snakes who's in charge now," he said.

Hermione felt her hackles rise at that; it was obvious he hadn't read 'Hogwarts: A History'.

"As Gryffindors, we're supposed to be brave _and_ chivalrous," Hermione said, "where's the bravery in picking on a group of students half your number? We should be protecting people who can't protect themselves, not joining in on the bullying. I've been busy all term, but even _I_ know the Slytherins have been targets this year. It takes a lot more bravery to go against the many and protect the few."

Wildy rolled his eyes and sighed, but Hermione could see a thoughtful look there once he was done.

"Whatever, I'm going to the Infirmary, can I have my wand back?" he asked, holding out his hand.

Hermione pulled at least ten wands from her robes.

"Err, is one of these yours?" she asked.

Wildy picked out his wand.

"That one's Hunter's," he said, pointing at another one.

Hermione debated a second on whether to give it to him, but quickly decided against it.

"I'll give it back to him," Hermione said.

They departed for the Infirmary, but when they arrived at the Grand Staircase, they found nothing but empty space where the stairs should have been. Broken stonework littered the floor and pockmarks scored the walls. The stairs were deserted except for Professor Collins up on the fifth floor keeping people away, Filch, down on the first floor, attempting in vain to scoop up some of the fallen debris, and a few gawking students. Much of the pile of rubble on the ground floor appeared to be pieces of the staircase they'd intended to use.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," a portrait said.

Hermione looked over to see a painting of a middle-aged gentleman from the 17th century sitting at a white and red picnic cloth staring at her. Hermione thought he looked vaguely Italian.

"Students aren't allowed to duel in the hallways, and you just waded right in, cursing younger students left and right. You're supposed to be a hero," the painting said.

"Come on, we'll use the passage behind Gulliver Pokeby," Hermione said, ignoring the Italian painting and doubling back.

"There's a secret passage?" Wildy asked, trailing behind her.

Hermione smirked.

"Whoa," Wildy said as Hermione reached behind the large portrait to lift a catch, then pulled the entire portrait open to reveal a hidden passage.

"How did you find this?" Wildy asked as he stepped over the lip and entered the narrow, darkened spiral stairwell.

"Older students showed me, _lumos,_" Hermione said, thinking with fondness and sadness of Fred and George.

On the way down they had to watch their footing on the narrow steps, and Hermione's thoughts turned to what had happened during the fight.

"_I don't even remember most of the fight, why did I black out?_" she thought, "_is there something wrong with me? Do I need to get help?_"

She shook her head.

"_It's most likely post-traumatic stress, but… the project_," she thought, "_I can't leave now, and if word ever got out, Skeeter would have a field day; I can practically see the headlines now._ _But what if I seriously hurt someone, wouldn't that be even worse?" _

She brushed a cobweb off her face as they continued to descend.

"_Forget it, focus on the project, and stay away from fights in school from now on,_" she thought.

Mind made up, Hermione nodded as they emerged on the first floor and made their way to the Hospital Wing and into the Infirmary. At least a dozen students from the fight lay on cots as Madam Pomfrey bustled about, tending the most seriously injured first. Groans of pain made Hermione wince internally and she wondered how many of the injuries came as a direct result of a spell cast from her wand.

"There's Hunter," Wildy said, moving to one of the nearby cots. Hermione followed him to Hunter Marcos, a bullish looking boy with brown hair. His face had taken a beating and one eye had already darkened and nearly swollen shut. If she wasn't mistaken, he was on the quidditch team.

"What happened to you, mate?" Wildy asked.

"Bloody Michaels charged me after _she_ disarmed us both," Hunter replied, nodding towards Hermione.

"You shouldn't have been fighting in the hallways anyway," Hermione said as she returned his wand, setting it on a bedside table.

"That shifty bastard started it," Hunter replied, "we was just defending ourselves."

"Even if he did, how is starting a battle royale in the Grand Staircase in any way justifiable?" Hermione asked.

"Not our fault everyone else jumped in," Hunter mumbled.

Madam Pomfrey approached Hunter's cot, already waving her wand to cast diagnostic spells.

"Miss Granger, are you injured as well?" Pomfrey asked.

"No, Madam Pomfrey," she replied, "I came to check everyone was alright, and to return some wands."

She held the stack up for Madam Pomfrey.

"Place them on my desk, you know where it is, and be quick about it," Madam Pomfrey replied, "these students are going to need their rest."

"Fighting in the hallway…" the nurse mumbled as Hermione moved off, leaving Wildy and Hunter behind.

"Granger," a girl's voice said from her right. Hermione looked over behind a partially closed privacy curtain to see Tracey Davis lying on a cot, wearing a blue hospital gown, her right arm completely covered in white gauze and resting across her stomach. There was something serene about the blonde's expression, the way her bangs had been brushed back; perhaps she was on potions to dull the pain. Hermione walked over to her; the normally prideful Slytherin prefect looked uncharacteristically vulnerable, laid out with white bedsheets pulled up to her chest.

"I thought you were alright after you stood up for Michaels," Davis said, "I guess I was wrong."

"I didn't mean for you to get injured," Hermione said.

Davis tried to sneer, but it came across as more of a wince.

"What did you think would happen when you disarmed me in the middle of that mess?" Davis saked.

"You slammed a junior student into the wall!" Hermione said.

"Only because he tried to hit me with a charm to turn my clothes to dust," Davis replied, "pervy git."

"Oh," Hermione said, "well, I did stop that other one after your arm was frozen. You're going to make a full recovery, right?"

Davis nodded.

"Yeah, but it's going to hurt like a bitch for a whole day," Davis said, "I'm in fairly excruciating pain right now, my whole arm feels like it's on fire, would definitely not recommend it."

Hermione sighed.

"I'm sorry Davis, for what it's worth," she said.

Tracey shook her head and frowned.

"I'm always getting hurt around you, and right now I need to get some rest," Davis replied, "shove off before the floor collapses or a chandelier falls on my head, yeah?"

She lay her head back and closed her eyes.

"_But you're the one who called me over!_" Hermione thought, unsure if Davis was joking or not, but she only nodded and quietly moved on.

Two beds down she spied Wesley Michaels, the top of his blue shirt stained dark brown with drying blood, and his nose clearly broken, bent to the left.

"Hey, Granger," he said with a nasally voice, but with a smile on his face.

"Michaels, are you alright?" she asked.

"Yeah, I took a few shots but I definitely gave as good as I got, finally," he said with a blood-stained grin, "and I actually held up in a duel… well, until you showed up that is. I guess those lessons are paying off."

Hermione approached the bed and he'd definitely taken several blows to the face.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked. Dried blood caked his split lower lip.

Michaels nodded.

"Pomfrey will have me fixed up in no time, and but those guys don't scare me anymore," he said.

"They said you hexed them from behind," Hermione said.

Michaels shook his head, then winced in pain and repeated the gesture slowly.

"No, they hexed me first. They always hex me first," he said.

"Hmm," Hermione said.

"_Sounds like the kind of thing Peeves would do, hex two students at once and start a fight… and he _was_ flying around the Grand Staircase earlier,_" Hermione thought.

"At any rate, here's your wand back," she said, depositing it on the table next to Michaels, "hope you feel better soon."

Hermione dropped the rest of the wands on Pomfrey's table and left the Infirmary, only to run into Daisy Vane, the Head Girl, on the way out. A few inches taller than Hermione, braided long blonde hair fell over her shoulder just past her prefect badge, and her blue eyes caught Hermione's as they passed each other.

"Granger," Vane said, "detention with Winthrop tomorrow night."

"_I can't afford to waste any time in detention!" _Hermione thought.

"What? Why?" she asked, turning to face the Head Girl.

"Fighting in the corridors, and disarming a prefect," Daisy replied, almost keeping a smug expression from her face.

"That's-, no, I was trying to stop the fighting," Hermione said.

Vane all but scoffed.

"You're joking, right? Apparently half the injured are here because of you," Daisy said, pointing into the Infirmary, "you're lucky detention is all you got."

"_Impossible, that can't possibly be right,_" Hermione thought.

"Should I have just walked away then?" Hermione asked, "who knows how many more would have been seriously injured, maybe even killed!"

"You _should_ have informed a teacher, which is what I did," Vane replied, "you're not a prefect, Granger, you don't have any authority to stop fighting in the hallways, and Professor Winthrop agrees."

The Head Girl turned her back to Hermione only to pause at the double doors to the infirmary and turn again, looking at Hermione over her shoulder.

"Also, if I had to guess, this is why you're not Head Girl, or even a prefect this year. You're not a reliable role-model anymore, and the Headmistress knew it," the blonde said, before pulling the doors open and entering the Infirmary. The doors closed with an echoing boom before Hermione could even process the statement, much less formulate a response. She closed her mouth, turned and made her way back to the Grand Staircase.

"_It's true I blacked out a little bit, but I hardly think I put half those people in the Infirmary,_" Hermione thought. She reflected a bit further as she approached the rubble at the bottom of the Staircase.

"_Is there any truth to what Vane said? Am I really not reliable or a role-model?_" Hermione thought.

She'd always prided herself on her discipline and thoroughness; those qualities should make her an excellent role-model...

"_I don't _think_ I'm unreliable.. maybe I'll ask Ginny and Neville,_" she thought.

Hermione arrived at the partially reconstructed staircase to see Professor Flitwick waving his wand in a figure-eight motion, repairing one of the staircases, step by step.

"Hello Professor," she said.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," Flitwick replied, not looking away from his spellwork.

She watched his efforts for a few seconds.

"Masonry construction and strengthening charm, modified for staircase?" she asked.

"Very astute, Miss Granger," Flitwick replied with a small smile.

"Mind if I help?" Hermione asked.

"Not at all," Flitwick replied, "you came from the Infirmary?"

"Yes," she said as she drew her wand and levitated a few of the broken fragments of masonry.

"I hope there weren't many serious injuries," the diminutive charms professor said.

"Some, it could have been worse," Hermione said, then concentrated carefully on the spell.

"_Conferumino Scalaria Structura,_" she said. The broken pieces of stone knit together, almost like clay, and Hermione nudged them to form a step, attaching it to the one Flitwick had just completed.

"Very good Miss Granger, have you been practicing this spell?" Flitwick asked.

"Only a little," Hermione replied.

The Charms professor and Hermione worked together in near silence for a good twenty minutes, until the staircase was repaired.

"Thank you, Miss Granger, ten points to Gryffindor," Flitwick said as he put the finishing touches on the last step, "would you care to test the newly repaired Grand Staircase with me?"

Hermione smiled and they walked up together, the student deliberately slowing her ascent to keep pace with Flitwick's smaller stride. They parted at the second floor as Flitwick turned to head to the East tower while Hermione tread the now familiar steps down to the dungeons and her lab. She allowed herself a little bit of hope as she approached the door, only to find the room still deserted. Julia had hadn't been by in nearly three days, and Hermione was beginning to get concerned.

"_We never really talked about the scars, or my nightmare that night,_" Hermione thought, "_perhaps the whole thing put her off?_"

Julia hadn't _seemed_ to be any different in the few days afterwards, but perhaps she only pretended to be alright with everything. Hermione resolved to put it out of her mind for the time being; she had work to do, and if Julia was going to be absent, it was even more imperative she not waste any time on speculation and conjecture. She picked up a knife, spread some boomslang skin on the counter, and began chopping, doing her best to ignore the empty space on the opposite side of the table.

* * *

The following evening, after her last class of the day, Hermione rapped smartly on the door to Professor McGonagall's old office, now occupied by the current head of Gryffindor house.

"Come," Winthrop said, his voice muffled by the door. Hermione pushed against the wood and entered to find it had been completely redecorated. Gone were the comfortable upholstered chairs, replaced by a large white table with several chairs of the wooden variety set around it. A large grandfather clock stood to her left, golden pendulum swinging inside its glass case. McGonagall's old desk had been replaced as well, with a heavy, richly stained oak one. A large map of Europe dominated the wall opposite the fireplace but most of the land mass was dark, except for a few pinpricks of light; Hermione thought they might be magical enclaves as opposed to muggle cities. As she looked a bit closer, Hermione could see snow-capped mountains raised slightly off the canvas, and Portugal and the western parts of Spain still glowing with the last of twilight. She suspected it was a real-time map of the continent.

"Come in, Miss Granger," Winthrop said. He already sat behind his imposing desk, a foot-high stack of parchment on one side. One of the chairs slid on its own from the white table to the side of Winthrop's desk as he made a pulling motion with one hand, an impressive display of wordless and wandless magic. Hermione closed the door behind her and sat to the left of Professor Winthrop, in front of the massive stack of what appeared to be ungraded essays. He glanced at her over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses.

"We're going to be grading the fifth year and below Defence essays today," Winthrop said, "as you're arguably the highest scoring student in the school, I'm sure you'll be able to pick out the errors and make corrections almost without thinking about them."

"I'll try, sir," Hermione replied. The sooner she finished the essays, the sooner she could get back to the lab. Winthrop nodded and opened one of the drawers on his right, pulling out an inkwell and quills for Hermione. She took the moment to look over his desk. There was not much, a paperweight made of some kind of dark metal, which currently sat atop the stack of papers, and a single picture frame. Rather than a family member, however, it showed only a moving photo of a deep red bird taking flight over and over. Hermione recognized the long, feathered tail and golden beak almost immediately: a phoenix.

"Magnificent, aren't they?" Winthrop asked as he noted her interest, "the photo does them absolutely no justice."

"Yes sir," Hermione replied, thinking of Fawkes.

"As rare as they are, I heard the previous Headmaster kept one," he added, "I would have very much liked to have seen it, but it had already flown by the time I arrived."

Hermione nodded.

"If only we all aspired to bettering our souls so one would choose us as a lifelong companion, the world might be a better place," he said.

Winthrop stared at the photo for a few more seconds before passing an inkwell and quill to Hermione. As he moved the paperweight, Hermione caught a glimpse of a rune carved into the bottom, but it was too quick for her to see what it was. The professor split the pile and passed about a third of the stack to Hermione.

"Sadly, that's not the world we live in," he said, "corrections only, leave the grades to me."

Hermione nodded and got to work, dipping her quill and starting to read over the essay on werewolves. Halfway through the first essay Winthrop broke the silence.

"Are you able to talk while you correct?" Winthrop asked.

"I… should be able to, sir," Hermione replied.

"Excellent," Winthrop said, "it's good training to learn how to talk and grade at the same time, and this detention would be very boring otherwise. There are a million different punishments I could dream up, but this detention isn't really about punishment is it?"

"Sir?" Hermione asked.

"Actually, that's not entirely true; we do need to send a message to the student body that nobody is above the rules, so your presence here tonight does serve a purpose," he continued, marking up the parchment as he spoke, "I'd like to talk about yesterday's incident."

Hermione stayed silent. She did feel Winthrop had her best interest at heart, but she didn't really know what to say, so as she replayed what she recalled of the fight in her mind's eye, Winthrop continued.

"Keep grading, Miss Granger," Winthrop said, gesturing to the essay in front of her, "tell me, did you intend to put all those students in the Infirmary?"

"No, of course not," Hermione replied as she looked down and read through an essay on werewolves.

"Hmm," he replied, "do you not remember hurting them?"

Hermione's mouth dropped open and she looked up from the essay again to stare at the professor sitting adjacent to her.

"What… how did you know?" she asked.

While he didn't look up from the parchment, he did smile slightly.

"I suspected, and you confirmed, thank you for that," Winthrop replied, "it's not uncommon for witches and wizards who have fought under extreme stress for prolonged periods. They can enter a sort of… survival state when confronted with combat again. It can be… well, it can have unfortunate consequences."

"Not that I fault you, Miss Granger," he added hastily, perhaps seeing a reflection of the despair she felt sweeping through her, "you did what you thought was right, and as far as I can tell, prevented lasting injury to any student."

"And you think that… survival state, is what happened to me?" Hermione asked, dipping her quill, crossing out a passage, and writing a few notes in the margin.

"It's possible," Winthrop replied, "I'm not a mind healer, I only dated one once."

Hermione smiled and chuckled internally at the remark.

"_Odd, when did that stop being creepy?_" she thought to herself.

"You should consider seeing one," Winthrop said, "professionally, I mean, not romantically."

Hermione sighed and paused her grading. She'd been through this debate with herself already.

"I know I should, but I-," Hermione said, biting her lip, "anything we say stays between us?"

Winthrop nodded.

"Of course, Miss Granger, my office is warded against eavesdropping, both magical and mundane," Winthrop said, also placing his quill in his inkwell to give her his full attention. She felt she could trust him, even though they'd never spoken outside of schoolwork. He'd proven himself so far to be capable in Defence, and he seemed to know something about what was happening to her.

"I'm worried what will happen if the press gets wind of what's happening to me, what's happened to me," she said, "the scrutiny will be almost unbearable. It's almost unbearable as it is."

Winthrop gave her an appraising look.

"Forgive me for saying so, but that's poor logic, and I would be surprised if you said you didn't know it already," Winthrop said, "if someone should be seriously injured by your wand, or even die… how much worse would it be?"

Hermione slumped her shoulders and sighed, frustrated with herself that she'd even put forth such a flimsy reasoning.

"I know," she said, "but… the project, my parents."

"Ah, and so we come to the crux of it," Winthrop said, "you're weighing the risk of possibly injuring some unknown against the possibility of never seeing your parents again."

"I only have until June," Hermione said, monotone, "less than seven months left. It's a horrible gamble, but I can't give up on my parents."

"You won't be able to help them from prison, or St. Mungo's," Winthrop said, "and that's where you will end up if you hurt someone badly enough. Your past deeds won't protect you; the people you fought to save will turn on you, faster than you might think."

"I'll take precautions," Hermione said stubbornly, "I'll actively avoid duels; I'll run away instead."

Winthrop only nodded, and they continued grading papers in silence for several minutes after that, until Hermione slid a small stack of corrected essays to Winthrop for him to place the official grade.

"It's the school's potions lab you require?" Winthrop asked.

"Yes, and the greenhouses, or a stock of reagents," Hermione replied, "once I graduate, I won't have access to them anymore."

Winthrop nodded.

"And if you haven't succeeded by then? What do you plan to do after graduation?" Winthrop asked.

Hermione chewed the inside of her lip.

"I'm not sure, I haven't thought that far ahead," Hermione replied, "it depends how we're going with the project by then, I suppose."

Winthrop nodded again. They continued grading, the large pendulum ticking by the seconds, the scratching of quills, and the shuffling of paper the only sounds.

"I have a proposition," Winthrop said, "what you need, Miss Granger, is a better option. What if I had the opportunity to gain access to a potions lab, and what if you agreed to see a healer, say on a weekly basis, someone discreet. For every hour you spent there, I could offer you an hour's access to a potions lab after you graduate."

"Oh, sir, I couldn't…" Hermione said, but Winthrop waved her concerns away.

"Miss Granger, I'm in a position to help, and I choose to offer it," Winthrop replied, "also, from what I've seen of your research, it holds promise, and a cure for obliviation damage could change the world for so many people."

"But… mind healers are expensive, not to mention a potions lab; I don't have much in the way of gold," Hermione said.

"Hogwarts has seen its share of mental damage in students over the centuries," Winthrop said, "after last year's events, there is budget this year to hire mind healers for students. I will ask the Headmistress to dispense the funds for you."

"_But… then she'll know,_" Hermione thought, "_then again Hermione, do you really think she doesn't already?_"

Winthrop went back to grading papers and Hermione just stared at him for a moment.

"You don't want anything in return?" she asked.

Winthrop sighed and placed a large 'T' at the top of the parchment in front of him.

"You have a keen mind, Hermione, one of the sharpest I've ever encountered, and the world would be a darker place if we were to lose the fruits of your intellect to prison," Winthrop continued, "all I ask is you do your best to succeed where others have failed, and perhaps consider returning the favour in the future, should it be within your power."

Hermione sat up a bit straighter in her seat.

"Thank you sir, I really… appreciate it," she said.

Winthrop didn't respond and Hermione fell back to grading, getting through another ten essays before the Defence professor spoke again.

"We'd better find something else to talk about, otherwise this is going to be a very long detention," he said.

Hermione racked her brain for a moment.

"The cross-cultural initiative," Hermione said.

"Yes, something that should have been instituted a long time ago," Winthrop replied as he slashed at a particularly poor essay, "I'm surprised the previous staff didn't put something similar in place, especially with the war brewing. Perhaps the coming war is why they didn't, hmm... At any rate, it's necessary if we're going to heal the wounds of our society over the long term. Have you thought of anyone you might show the muggle world and cultures to?"

"Not really," Hermione said sheepishly. Honestly, she hadn't given it any thought at all.

"I might bring Ginny, or Julia," Hermione said, "they're both pureblood and we get on well."

Winthrop nodded.

"It is easy for us humans to fear what we don't understand, so we should try to understand each other as much as possible, at least, those of us who are able to, don't you think?" Winthrop asked.

Hermione nodded. She wholeheartedly agreed.

"What about the other magical races?" Hermione asked.

"There aren't any at Hogwarts," Winthrop said, "but if there were, I would have included them as well."

"And werewolves?" Hermione asked, thinking of Lupin.

Winthrop grimaced.

"They're fully functional and rational wizards and witches except for one night a month. That's ninety-eight percent of the time. The Ministry could provide wolfsbane potions free of charge for the remaining two percent," Winthrop said, "the reduction in attacks alone would more than make up for the cost."

Hermione felt herself growing excited. Here was someone who felt much as she did, who chafed at the injustice of the magical world.

"What about house-elves? Goblins? Vampires?" Hermione asked, suddenly remembering something, "your father has a seat on the Wizengamot, you could request he introduce new legislation."

"Settle down, Miss Granger," Winthrop said with a chuckle, "most will want to heal the wounds of our own society first before righting all the injustices of the world, and they're not wrong. But yes, all sentient beings deserve to be treated equally under the law. As for my father…"

Winthrop stopped grading for a moment.

"He doesn't really take his responsibilities seriously," he said, "he hasn't been to a Wizengamot meeting in years."

To Hermione, it was one thing to not have the ability or opportunity to change the world for the better, but it was an entirely different matter to have both, but not the inclination to do anything with it.

"Why ever not?" Hermione asked, perhaps a bit more forcefully than she should have.

"They're incredibly boring affairs," Winthrop replied, "and last year wasn't safe for anyone."

"But couldn't you-," Hermione said, then cut herself off before she attempted to meddle in her professor's family affairs.

He smiled at her knowingly, and an unfamiliar feeling rose up her spine; the same as the first time she'd sat across a chessboard from Ron.

"Hurry up, Miss Granger," Winthrop said, "these essays won't grade themselves, and this is supposed to be a detention for you."

Hermione refocused on grading the junior years' essays. The minutes passed quickly, and soon they finished the entire stack of essays.

"And an 'E' for you, Mr. Wildy," Winthrop said, completing the last grade with a flourish of his quill.

"Done," he said, replacing the inkwells and quills into his desk.

"Miss Granger, it's been a pleasure. I look forward to sharing conversation again, only please avoid injuring students as a prelude next time," he said, "my door is always open to you."

Hermione frowned as she stood up and stretched her sore leg muscles.

"Yes sir," Hermione said, "and thank you for the offer."

"It's the right thing to do, Miss Granger," Winthrop said with a smile.

* * *

A light dusting of powdered dragon's claw coated the surface of the steaming green liquid in Hermione's cauldron as she slowly and carefully increased the temperature, staring down into the brew. She'd been through several iterations, trying to find a combination of ingredients that would change colour before boiling, but when the first few bubbles broke the surface, she turned off the fire, sighed, and put another tick mark in her notebook. Hermione frowned to herself and again looked over at the empty spot across the table. Working alone hadn't been an issue for two full months after the start of classes, but now, after only a few short weeks of having a partner, she found the room too large, too quiet, and too lonely. For nearly a week now, Julia had barely been by, and she'd stopped spending her nights in the tent as well.

Hermione's fingertips lightly brushed the fabric of her sleeve.

"_Why else would she suddenly stop coming? The nightmares perhaps? No, it must be the scars,_" she thought.

Tears sprung to her eyes as the thought of having to hide her arm for the rest of her life, so as not to repulse people near her, all because of that deranged madwoman. She sniffed and angrily wiped her eyes.

"_Bloody Lestrange, I hate her. I know I should be putting it behind me, but I hate her, and I hate what she did to me_," Hermione thought.

After a moment or two of internal rage, Hermione again resolved to not allow her scars to alter who she was, resolved to move on. She rubbed her arm through her sleeve, sighed again, and looked over at the empty space on the opposite side of the table. Although she'd initially been reluctant to bring in a partner, between the two of them, they'd made great progress for a few weeks and now they were in danger of losing what they'd gained. Hermione resolved to confront the transfer student in Flitwick's class that afternoon, and packed up with perhaps a bit more force than necessary as she prepared to depart.

"_First she begs me to join, and then she vanishes to Merlin knows where… well, this has gone on long enough," _Hermione thought.

She spent entire walk to Charms imagining how the conversation would go, and took her usual seat, watching the door for her new friend. Foiling Hermione's mentally scripted efforts of how she would confront the transfer student, Julia never showed up to Charms, and she wasn't at dinner either. Hermione returned to the lab and finished off another three brews before turning in, increasingly annoyed, and still with no sign of her so-called partner. The following morning, she arrived early at Defence and took her customary seat at the front of the class, now with a measure of concern bleeding into her annoyance.

"_It's not like her to miss classes,_" Hermione thought, "_if she's not here, I'll speak to Professor Winthrop afterwards. Hopefully she's not injured or something… but certainly I would have heard if she was, right?_"

Professor Winthrop entered and started taking roll, still with no sign of Julia.

"White," he said, and the door banged open, the girl in question striding into the room.

"Here," she said.

"Cutting it a bit close, aren't we Miss White?" Winthrop said, studying her over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses as he wordlessly rolled the parchment.

"Close, but technically on time," Julia replied, taking her usual seat next to Hermione and ignoring her attempt to make eye contact.

All concern evaporated and her annoyance increased five-fold as Julia reappeared, apparently perfectly healthy. As Winthrop launched into a lecture about the principles and purpose of ritualizing charms, Hermione repeatedly looked up from her notes to glance at Julia, who seemed to be pointedly ignoring her.

"Where have you been?" Hermione whispered, only for Julia to quietly shush her and continue taking notes.

Class passed agonizingly slowly, and at the end, Julia packed up and departed so quickly Hermione needed to use her wand to put her items away if she wanted to catch her.

"Julia," she said as she trotted out of the classroom.

Julia turned around, one hand in the pocket of her robes as students filtered past them.

"Yes?" she replied.

"I missed you in the lab, and you weren't in Charms, where have you been?" Hermione asked.

Julia paused, as if processing the question.

"Sorry, been busy, something came up, something personal," she said.

"Oh, is everything alright?" Hermione asked, eyebrows coming together in concern.

"Oh yes, perfectly alright," Julia replied with a smile.

"Okay… good, I'll see you in the lab after classes then?" Hermione asked.

"Maybe not tonight," Julia replied, "but soon."

Annoyance and frustration flared; Julia was being extremely vague and unhelpful, and Hermione could practically feel the sands of time slipping through her fingers.

"How soon?" Hermione asked, a hand going to her hip, "are you still planning on being part of the project?"

Julia nodded.

"Oh yes, absolutely, there's just something I need to take care of first, and then I'll be sure to return to the lab," she replied.

Julia paused and smiled again.

"I just need a little bit of time to myself. I'm sure you understand," Julia added.

Hermione sighed. She _could_ be a little bit patient; Julia _had_ been very helpful in the few weeks they'd been working together. Still, something seemed off.

"Okay. You're sure you're alright?" Hermione asked.

Julia nodded and smiled again.

"Yes, I've never felt better," she said.

"Just… Hurry up with whatever it is and I'll see you soon," Hermione said.

Julia smiled again and nodded.

"See you, Hermione," she said, then turned to head to the Grand Staircase, humming a merry tune, hand still in her pocket.

Hermione went to her next two classes and took notes, but she couldn't get Julia's odd behaviour out of her head. At lunch, rather than head down to the dungeons, she visited the Great Hall and zeroed in on Ginny's flaming red hair from across the room. Ginny chatted with some of her quidditch mates, unaware of Hermione's approach until she tapped her on the shoulder.

"I need your help," Hermione said.

"Are you planning to put any more of my team into the Infirmary?" Ginny asked.

"That… wasn't really my fault, it was another student…" Hermione said, trailing off at the end as Ginny smirked at her.

"It's okay, he's fully recovered already anyway, and if you had to hex him, I expect he deserved it. Can I finish lunch first?" Ginny asked, holding up a half-eaten sandwich

"Not really, take it with us?" Hermione asked, scooping up a sandwich of her own.

"Sorry everyone, I'll catch up with you later," Ginny said as she stood up. The rest of the Gryffindors murmured their goodbyes.

Hermione led them up to their dorm room and drew her wand as they entered.

"_Colloportus, muffliato,_" Hermione said, locking the doors and blocking off potential eavesdroppers, "has Julia been acting odd this past week?"

Ginny's eyebrows rose a bit at the privacy spells Hermione cast but she didn't miss a beat.

"You mean, odder than usual?" Ginny asked, "because if you remember, I've always thought there was something a bit fishy about her. Glad to see you're coming around on that, by the way."

"Yes, odder than usual," Hermione said, "and no, you don't have to rub it in."

Ginny smirked then shook her head.

"Not really, then again I've barely seen her this week," she replied.

Hermione looked at her questioningly.

"What about in the evenings? Quidditch practice?" Hermione asked.

"We haven't had practice yet this week. Hasn't she been sleeping down in the dungeons?" Ginny asked.

Hermione shook her head.

"Not this week," she said, "she hasn't been sleeping in the dorm?"

"No," Ginny said, shaking her head.

"So then where's she been sleeping?" Hermione asked, "Get the map? I want to see where she's disappearing to."

Ginny nodded and rummaged around her trunk for a moment before pulling out Marauder's Map. She unfurled it completely and set it on the desk as the ink spread across the pages. The two witches scoured the ratty parchment for Julia White's dot while they ate their sandwiches. Hermione found her own and Ginny's dots easily, the charmed ink names still slightly smudged, and worked her way outwards in concentric circles.

"This thing is well on its way to completely twacked. Look, there's two professor Winthrops," Ginny said, pointing both to Winthrop's office and the DADA classroom.

She shook her head.

"Harry's going to be upset if it breaks down completely," Ginny added, "it's one of the only things his father actually made and got passed down to him. And Sirius too."

Hermione nodded. The fact Harry valued the map so much and had lent it, and his Firebolt, to Ginny spoke volumes about their relationship, that he practically already considered her family. She idly wondered when Harry might propose, because to her it was definitely a question of when, not if. Then her thoughts turned to her own relationship, and a small sigh escaped her.

"Maybe have George take a look at it over Christmas," Hermione murmured, putting thoughts of Ron and everything he represented out of mind.

Ginny nodded, but Hermione could tell from the soft, barely audible sigh and subtle change of her stance, the statement had set off a swirl of thoughts and emotion in Ginny. For whatever reason though, she chose not to give voice to them and Hermione didn't press the issue.

"She's not here," Ginny said, "either she left the grounds, or she's in the Room, or the map is just broken."

"She did say she was taking care of something personal," Hermione said.

"Maybe she has a boyfriend," Ginny said with a suggestive grin.

"I thought she was betrothed," Hermione said.

"Maybe she has a secret boyfriend," Ginny said.

Hermione shook her head. She couldn't waste time trying to unravel whatever it was Julia was doing. If she didn't come around in the next week or two, Hermione would write her off and adjust her schedule accordingly.

"Maybe take a look at the map from time to time, see if you can find out where she's going?" Hermione said, "when you're free, that is."

Ginny nodded.

"Alright, assuming its still working somewhat properly," she said.

"Thanks Ginny," Hermione said, cancelling the privacy wards, "I've got to get back to the lab… I really appreciate it."

Ginny frowned at her, but kept silent.

"I guess I'll see you around? Mischief managed," Ginny said, folding up the parchment again as Hermione stepped out the door."

"Yeah, see you, Ginny," Hermione said, her thoughts already on the next experiment. She was going to have to head into the forest at least once before Christmas, and she hoped Julia came around before then…


	15. Chapter 15

Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Warning: Sex, drug abuse, language

Chapter 15

Draco tapped the muggle driver's license on the ornate hand mirror as it lay flat on his bedside table, separating the fine powder into a pair of nearly identical thin white lines. His hands trembled as he picked up the purple straw, already cut down for this purpose. One long sniff and the first line vanished off the glass. He sniffed a few more times to keep it from falling out, then exhaled through his mouth and repeated the process for the second line, up the other nostril. The rush went through him as he struggled to steady his breathing. The stuff played havoc with his sleep schedule; he'd done some late last night, then been up past dawn then crashed and slept until afternoon. When he woke, the ache for more was worse than it had ever been. It almost had a mind of its own, the coke, not that he cared because Darren had been right; it made him feel fantastic, if only for an hour or two at a time. The white powder delivered its blessed relief unto him, and his thoughts came into focus almost immediately. He looked to the muggle camera film roll canister sitting next to the mirror, a small black container with a grey lid, and contemplated tapping out another line or two. He forced himself to save it for later. Where he was going, he didn't need to be jumping out of his skin. Just over a month had passed since his previous visit to Azkaban, and today was the first day he could return to see Father. Draco was many unsavoury things and he truly dreaded the cursed island, but he'd made a promise to his mother; at the very least he could keep his word to her.

Draco placed the hand mirror back inside the night table drawer and stumbled out of bed. Wishing he could hit himself with a scented charm, he settled for putting on clean robes, the first set he managed to grab from his closet. Carefully, he forced his hands to steady enough to roll four joints. He figured three should be enough to get through the trip to Azkaban and back, with one as backup. Three went into an inside pocket along with the small cylinder of cocaine, and the tip of the last joint found its way between his lips. He fished around yesterday's jeans until he found what he was looking for, the shiny new lighter. A quick flick of his thumb brought up a small, blue and gold flame. Alan showed one off at Darren's after community service one day, called it a zeppo or something, and Draco had to have one. He lit the tip of the joint and took a long drag, then snapped his wrist to close the lid with a satisfying metallic clink, dousing the flame. He alternated tying his muggle trainers and sucking down more weed, then left his bedroom to walk down the bare hallway, where patches of cleaner and newer looking stone told of furniture and carpeting already sold off. He'd all but finished the joint by the time he made it to the fireplace and flicked the stub into the hearth where embers glowed, perpetually waiting for the next handful of floo powder.

"Ministry of Magic," he said, tossing it in and exhaling the last hit in a thin stream of smoke.

Green flames roared and he stepped through to land in the entrances by the Atrium. The stares barely registered with him thanks to the cocktail of narcotics he'd loaded his system with, and he walked directly to Reception.

"Draco Malfoy, Azkaban, visiting," he said.

"Wand?" the middle-aged slightly overweight man asked.

"Haven't got one," Draco said, shaking his head. Somewhere in the back of his mind he felt he probably should be embarrassed to say that, but once again, he didn't care.

"Sign here please," the receptionist said, producing a blank application form. The ink faded into the page once he scrawled his name at the bottom, and a small box spit out a visitor's tag with a soft belch.

"DMLE, level two," the man said.

Draco nodded and made his way to the lifts, affixing the tag on the way to the portkey room that would take him to Azkaban. He finished off another joint as he waited outside the room by the security lockers, ignoring the stares of people passing by in the hallway, then deposited the weed and cocaine in one of them, pocketing the little numbered silver key so he could retrieve them later. Eventually he made his way to the room with portkey and the middle-aged witch with significantly overdone beauty charms called his name. The iron ring pressed against his hand as he gripped it tightly, anticipating that familiar navel pull.

The sound of crashing waves greeted him, and Draco wondered how long the narrow walkway and iron ring portkey had been there, unchanging.

"_Binns probably mentioned it in one of his lectures,_" he thought.

As he started walking, he found it wasn't exactly the same; it was much colder. They were into December, and Draco made do as best he could without warming charms. He walked the path between waves below and icy sea spray above, hyper aware of the long drop. At the small guard hut at the halfway point, he knocked twice, only for the door to open and reveal Brandon Clark, his probation officer, inside.

Draco fought the urge to turn around and walk back the way he came.

"Throwing in the towel, Malfoy?" Clark asked with what could only be described as a shit-eating grin smeared across his face.

"_Keep cool, keep cool,_" Draco thought.

"Just visiting, sorry to disappoint," he replied.

Clark made way for Draco to enter, and as he moved out of the cold and wind, he saw a tall, dark-haired Auror seated at the small table, pointing a wand at him.

"Dunno why you bother, you'll have plenty of time to talk to daddy when I finally nail you," Clark muttered under his breath as Draco passed, just loud enough for him to hear.

Draco did his best to ignore the provocation and entered the utilitarian guardhouse.

"Wand?" Clark asked as he ran his hands over Draco's arms, checking for hidden weapons.

"Haven't got one," Draco replied.

"Sorry, didn't catch that, could you speak up a bit?" Clark replied, even Draco knew full well he'd heard precisely what he'd said.

"I don't have a wand," Draco said, louder.

"And why don't you have a wand, Mr. Malfoy?" Clark asked.

"Broken by muggles," Draco replied.

"Did you hear that Lieutenant?" Clark asked, looking over his shoulder at the dark-haired hawk-nosed Auror for a second, "Draco Malfoy's wand was broken by muggles."

"What's this?" Clark asked, pulling out the Zippo lighter.

Draco internally winced.

"Muggle stuff, I'm heading to London later," Draco replied.

"No shit muggle stuff, you don't think I know a lighter when I see one, Malfoy? Don't the terms of your probation have something to say about possession of deadly items? Could start a fire with this. What do you think, Lieutenant?" Clark asked, looking over his shoulder again.

"Just check it, Clark. Keep your eye on the visitor," the tall Auror replied, managing to convey complete and utter apathy with tone of voice alone.

Clark jammed Draco in the groin hard enough to make him wince in pain and make him swear bloody revenge on the Auror all over again.

"He won't do anything, will you?" Clark said, looking back to Draco, who only kept his mouth shut by the grace of the drugs in his system. Clark deposited the lighter, the silver locker key, plus Draco's wristwatch, in a tray on top of one of the filing cabinets, then drew his wand.

"Let's go," Clark said, pointing his wand at Draco's back as they exited the guardhouse towards the prison. Draco kept quiet as they walked towards the looming metal edifice, praying Clark would keep his mouth shut for the entirety of his visit. The probation officer summoned a beaver patronus near the top of the dimly lit staircase just as Jenkins had, the little flat-tailed creature roaming about and keeping the swirling, dark-cloaked dementors at bay.

Draco remembered the way well enough, and stopped at the cell block housing the Dark Lord's inner circle.

"Go on then," Clark said.

Draco slid the large bolt open and pushed, soundlessly swinging the heavy metal door open. He entered the block and walked past Dolohov, the skin-and-bones Death Eater's dark, beady eyes tracking him from the rear of his cell.

Draco reached his father's cell to find him sprawled out on his back, possibly unconscious.

"Father?" he asked.

The figure in the cell stirred, and his father's now nearly bald head lifted up, parchment skin stretched over his gaunt face, making him look more like a skeleton than a man.

"Draco," he rasped, "run."

An alarm of dread shot through him, and Draco snapped his head back to the entrance of the block only to see and hear the door slam shut with a resounding and echoing boom. Dolohov burst into cackling laughter and moved to grasp the bars of his cell as Draco sprinted back to the entrance to yank on the door, only to find it locked.

"Clark!" Draco yelled, "you sick bastard, this isn't funny!"

"He's been taunting your father for weeks now," Dolohov said, his voice like sandpaper, "oh, this is going to be a treat to watch."

The wasted Death Eater ran a dry tongue over cracked lips as he stared at Draco, and slowly, Draco felt the warmth of the patronus receding.

"_Shit. Shit-shit-shit_," Draco thought, trying to figure a way out of his predicament but coming up empty, "_because you're locked in a cell block in bloody Azkaban, without a wand, you moron!_"

His breaths started to steam even more, and he felt that horrible dread rising up as the dementors' aura returned full force. Desperately, he tried to keep control of himself by falling back on Occlumency, but he knew it was only a matter of time, especially with how difficult he found it to clear his mind while high, stoned, and in close proximity to Merlin knew how many dementors. The little tendril of hope which remained whispered of an unlikely rescue, and he sat himself against the door so at least nothing could get in without shoving him out of the way. Already growing numb from the cold metal leeching the warmth straight through his damp robes, he turned his head as the bolt opened on the other side with a sharp clank. Ahead of him, Dolohov's breath puffed out in rapid bursts; he'd stopped laughing, but he kept hanging on to the bars, pulling himself up to watch Draco, anticipation mixed with dementors' despair written on his face. With effort like an upstream struggle against a massive waterfall, Draco lifted an arm and landed his hand on the door handle, the rod of metal like ice in his palm. He pivoted slightly, jamming his arm between the handle and the door itself up to his elbow, and slung it over the latch, putting his shoulder and now bunched up robes beneath it to prevent it from turning down to open. He sat there, counting the bumps of the door handle against his shoulder for what felt like hours, until he lost himself completely to liquid despair running through his veins.

Finally, after what seemed like a year and a day, the hopelessness receded, and Draco slowly returned to himself. There was no mistaking the comforting, reinvigorating warmth of a patronus charm as the dementors retreated. Draco stood up on shaky legs, pulled his numb arm from the handle, flexed his fingers a few times, and yanked hard on the door to find Clark standing there with his beaver patronus hovering over one shoulder.

He looked at Draco for a moment.

"Time's up," he said.

"Clark, what the bloody hell," Draco said.

Clark raised an eyebrow.

"Better watch that tone, Malfoy," Clark said, his expression hardening.

"Fuck my tone, you left me for dementor food," Draco said.

Clark stared at Draco for a split-second before painfully jamming two fingers into Draco's chest.

"Get one thing straight," Clark said, "if I wanted to leave you for the dementors, we wouldn't be having this conversation. I left to give you privacy; I hope you made good use of it. Time's up."

Draco stood and stared in slack-jawed shock as Clark turned and walked down the hallway, back the way they'd come.

"I'm not opposed to leaving you here, Malfoy," Clark called from up ahead, and Draco came back to his senses as the light of the patronus started to leave him behind. He glared daggers into Clark's back, but the rational side of his mind took over as they descended the dark green stairwell. There was nothing he could do. He could file a complaint but it would be Clark's word against his. For a few seconds of insanity, he contemplated a more direct approach, but even if he could take down the Auror and steal his wand, he'd probably never even make it off the island. The fight went out of him as he realized not many, perhaps not even one, would shed a tear if he'd been Kissed just now. Clark could make up whatever story he wanted and would probably get away with it. By the time they stepped onto the walkway, Draco'd begun to wonder if he'd imagined the whole thing. In a daze, he followed Clark to the guardhouse, shoved the lighter, locker key, and wristwatch into his robe pocket, and navigated the path back to the wall and the portkey ring at the far end of the walkway.

He gripped the wet metal ring and almost immediately felt the tug on his navel, depositing him back at the Ministry. Still shaken up, it took him three tries to get the silver key in, but eventually it lined up with the lock and Draco scooped up the contents. He lit up a joint with shaking hands on his way to the lift, bypassing the reception desk entirely on his way to the floo.

"Diagon Alley," he said, barely pausing for the flames to die down before he stepped through. The crisp late autumn wind slapped him and would have frozen his wet hair if it wasn't covered with salty seawater. An overcast sky had already begun to slip into dusk as the nights came almost absurdly early this late in the year. He started walking randomly, sucking down the joint as quickly as he could, wishing he had a wand so he could cast a drying charm or a warming charm, preferably both, but then decided the biting cold was worth the discomfort for the clarity it brought.

"_Shit, did I almost get Kissed, or did I just imagine the whole thing?_" he thought, "_would Clark really have done that, or was it some kind of sick prank?_"

He nearly burned his fingertips as he reached the end of the joint and tossed it into the gutter with disgust.

"_It didn't help at all_," he thought as he fingered the canister containing the cocaine within. This wind wouldn't make it easy though. He ducked into Flourish and Blotts, quickly walking between two of the bookshelves and, after making sure he wasn't being watched, produced and uncapped the film roll canister. He'd grown out a single fingernail just for this purpose, and now he dipped his pinky nail into the powder, scooping out a small bump. He sealed one nostril with an index finger and snorted the powder straight off his nail, sniffing again to make sure as much went up as possible.

"Fuck," he whispered as he capped the canister again, dropping it back into his pocket and placing both hands on the shelf in front of him as he let the small high run through him. A long exhale escaped him. The whole situation was absolutely mental and he hadn't even been able to talk to Father. Thinking back, Father didn't look good, at all.

"_I'll be surprised if he even makes it to Christmas,_" Draco thought. He waited for the weight of that realization to hit him, but nothing happened.

"_Perhaps I've already come to terms with the inevitability of Father's death in prison_," he thought.

He sniffed again and wiped his nose with the back of his hand as he exited the bookstore and returned to the street, pausing on the walk as he considered his next stop. He knew he shouldn't visit Mary, that he should really stop sleeping with her, but it seemed every time they'd finished and he convinced himself it would be the last time, he was wrong. The day before yesterday was no different, apparently, a reflection that brought a half-smirk, half-sneer to his face as he climbed the steps to Darren's run-down apartment about an hour later.

When she pulled the door open, he greeted her with a deep kiss to the lips. He thought it was a great way to say hello, and by the way she let out a small gasp when he pulled back, Mary apparently agreed.

"Glad to see you too," she said with a small smirk. She wore jeans and a dark red sweater due to the shitty fitting of the windows causing the heat to constantly leak out of the place.

"Is Darren here?" he asked, looking around.

"No," she replied, and he grabbed her by the wrist to lead her to her bedroom.

She laughed and put up token resistance.

"Aren't you going to buy me dinner first?" she asked.

"No. Got something better," he replied, producing the canister with the cocaine inside and giving it a little shake.

"Oh, fuck yeah," Mary said, all playfulness gone as she eyed the black and grey plastic bottle. She locked the door behind them and dug around her dresser looking for straws they could use, while Draco tapped out a decent amount onto the small hand mirror on her night table, then produced his muggle driver's license to chop it into several lines.

They took turns snorting and fell into bed together, Draco losing himself in the high and the sensations it brought as they fought for supremacy and who could strip the other of their clothing first. It wasn't long before he looked down at her face, Mary welcoming him again as he penetrated her. They'd spent about as much time in bed as out of it over the past month, but he still relished the way she made him feel.

"_This is possibly one of the only things keeping me sane,_" he thought as she twined her ankles about his.

Their rhythm increased until he climaxed inside her again, the warm slickness mingling with her juices and enveloping his manhood. Draco paused for a moment as the last shudders went through him, then withdrew and rolled off to face the ceiling, still panting from the exertion. Mary nestled into his side and drifted a few fingers across his chest, tracing the edge of his scar.

"Want to tell me what's going on?" she asked.

"Not really," Draco replied, "kind of want to take my mind off it. Alan said you got a job? How's that?"

Mary rolled halfway over to open her night table and pull out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. She offered one to Draco, who shook his head, before popping one between her lips and lighting it.

"S'alright," she replied with a puff of smoke, "they don't let me smoke inside but it's better than working a register."

"Hmm," Draco said, lacing his fingers behind his head and staring at a water mark on the ceiling, "and that's something that'll, you know, pay enough to live off of?"

"Survive, more like. At least I can get Darren off my ass about paying some of the rent," Mary said, taking another drag, "I'm sure Bruno will help out if I need, too."

Draco nodded. Mary's half-brother was due to be out of prison perhaps before the end of the year. Draco also got the impression she wanted him to say something like _he_ would help her out, but he was in no position at all to be offering help to anyone, much less this muggle orphan, so he kept silent.

"What about you Drake," she asked, "what are you going to do after that shit sentence at the orphanage is up?"

"Fuck if I know," Draco muttered, "honestly it'll be a miracle if I make it that long."

"Don't talk like that," Mary said, holding him around his chest again and leaning close to his ear, "I'm sure you're going to be fine."

"_And just how in the fuck can you be sure about something like that?_" Draco thought, but he wasn't really angry with Mary, more like… disappointed she'd resorted to such an empty statement.

"What about you then?" Draco asked, "what are you going to do?"

Mary snorted.

"I'll just be happy if I can get out of this craptastic neighbourhood," she replied.

"Will the… what was it, clerk… position allow you to do that?" Draco asked.

"Administrative assistant, basically a secretary, at a vet's office," she replied, "not really, but maybe I can make some money on the side. Darren seems to think it's easy."

"Hmm," Draco replied, then decided he wasn't ready for the conversation to end just yet, "where would you go?"

"I dunno," Mary sighed, "maybe southern France. Seen the post cards, supposed to be beautiful."

Draco's thoughts turned to the Malfoy property on the French Riviera, multiple stories with white columns and perfectly manicured greenery, looking over sun drenched white beaches and sapphire blue Mediterranean waters.

"It is," he said. Perhaps when his probation was finished, he'd take a relaxing vacation there, maybe invite Theo or Daphne. Assuming he could find a few days between tenants, of course. Fucking Ministry.

"_I really should start paying more attention to the affairs of the estate,_" he thought, and resolved to do so, starting the following week.

"You've been?" Mary asked.

"Of course, we have a proper-…" he said, cutting himself off.

"You own a house in the South of France?" Mary asked, propping herself up on one elbow to look him in the eye, her dishevelled auburn hair striking him as extremely sexy. Apparently, part of him agreed wholeheartedly as he felt blood start flowing south again.

"More or less," Draco responded reluctantly, "it's a bit complicated."

"Oh, I wish I could go one day, just to see the beaches," Mary sighed.

Draco closed his eyes and breathed deep. Just thinking about the vacation home relaxed him. The image of Mary laying out topless on the top balcony or on the beach, sunlight turning her dark red hair into a fiery halo, came unbidden to his mind's eye.

"Maybe I'll take you one day, when things settle down," he said.

"_Draco Lucius Malfoy, what in the fuck are you saying?_" he thought.

"That would be amazing," she said, drifting her fingers down below his waistline again to finish bringing his hard-on fully back, "I'm sure we'd have a great time."

He smirked.

"Show me what you'd do to me if we go," he said, pulling her on top of him to straddle his hips.

She definitely made him reconsider taking her instead of Theo, muggle or not.

* * *

After a night of cocaine fuelled sex, Draco dressed shortly after dawn to make his probation appointment with Clark, then returned to the Manor to pass out for the remainder of the day and sleep off the drugs in his system. He awoke with a horrible headache to find the silhouette of his mother standing over him and shaking his shoulder in the darkened bedroom.

"Mother? What time is it?" he asked, eyelids glued shut despite his mental commands to open them.

"It's after six," she said quietly, "are you sick?"

"No," he said, wondering if it was after six pm or six am, "maybe. Whazzit?"

Clearly, he was far from even partially awake.

"You saw your father yesterday? How is he?" she asked.

"Not good," he replied, rolling over to face away from her and closing his eyes again.

"What did you speak about?" she asked.

"Nothing really," he replied, already falling asleep.

"Clark is a maniac," he mumbled, but he wasn't sure if she understood what he'd said.

She must have let him sleep then, or been unable to rouse him, because the next time he awoke he felt much more rested, but much more uptight at the same time. He needed food, but more importantly, he needed a hit. Now. Rifling through his robes (and noting he still wore his muggle trainers), he came up with the last joint he'd rolled before heading to Azkaban. He smoked it as he descended through the increasingly barren manor, only to be confronted by Narcissa, dressed in burgundy robes, as he attempted to enter the foyer with the floo fireplace.

"Draco," she said, "as I'm sure you've noticed, more than half our furniture is now gone. Although most of it was horrid and it's not that I cared overly much about it, I do want to know what you're spending all the gold on."

"Nothing, Mother," he replied, taking another drag and attempting to step around her.

"It's this, isn't it, what you're smoking," she said, pointing with her wand and blocking his path.

"What? No," Draco replied, then thought better of it, "well, yes, partially."

"I want some," she said.

"Absolutely not," he replied.

"Draco, I am your mother, and I am not an idiot. You're smoking this to help cope with going out into muggle infested London every day, do you deny?" she asked.

Draco stayed silent and waited for her to continue.

"I want some to help me with being trapped in here," she said, "just… help me, please?"

Draco closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. He couldn't say no to Mother. He glanced at his watch.

"I need to depart in twenty minutes," he said, "we have until then."

Unfortunately, he'd all but finished the last joint, so he led her through the manor until he found one of the few remaining standing tables in one of the smaller drawing rooms. There, he produced the plastic baggie and wrapping papers and started rolling another two.

"What is it?" she asked, watching him as he worked.

"Muggle weed," he said, "makes you care less about everything."

Draco eyed his mother's hollowed cheeks and now delicate frame, and decided the hunger inducing qualities of smoking up would probably do her some good. He kept one for himself and passed the other to Narcissa, flicking the lighter to burn the tip. She coughed the first time just as he, Daphne, and Pansy had, only this time he didn't find it amusing at all.

"Try again," he said, glancing at his watch, "it takes getting used to."

"Thank you, Draco," she said, her voice hoarse.

"I've got to go," he said, stepping away, "if it works for you, I can roll some more when I come home."

She nodded and took another drag, and the absurdity of his mother standing alone at a table smoking muggle weed made him chuckle to himself.

"_The entire world's gone barking mad,_" he thought.

* * *

With work at the orphanage now more or less routine for Draco, his body operated without much input from his mind, which focused solely on getting to Darren's later in the day. He and Mary had gone a bit overboard the previous evening, and he caught himself multiple times during the day reaching for a bump only to recall doing the last line the night before.

"_I just have to get through this day, then I can get a hit,_" he thought, fingering the empty canister in his pocket and staring at the clock, "_fuck, I don't know if I'm going to make it."_

He visited the loo and splashed some cold water on his face to try and shock himself into alertness, with marginal success. On the way back to the arts and crafts room, he heard quiet voices ahead. He looked up to see Steph kneeling down, looking very cross, holding the hand of little blonde Callista McKay, Mary's younger sister. Callista appeared to be upset about something and shaking her head, and Draco watched as Steph turned over Callista's hand and smacked her, not violently, but hard enough he could hear the slapping sound from where he was. Callista was full on crying now, though she tried to keep her voice down.

"What happened?" he asked as he approached.

"Callista's been stealing again, and lying about it," Steph said, glaring accusingly at the little girl. Draco noticed a golden wrapped sweetie of some kind in Steph's hand.

"I wasn't, I swear," Callie said, her eyes pleading, "it was the monster."

"Callista, there's no such thing as monsters," Steph said, "stealing from the other children is wrong. Lying about stealing is wrong. You're going to the director's office until dinner."

"I'm not lying Steph, I'm not!" Callie said as Steph started moving.

The little blonde leaned back and dug her heels in, forcing Steph to literally drag her towards Macmillian's office.

"I told it to stop but it doesn't listen to me-" the little girl sobbed.

"Callie, you're too old for this. I don't know what's got into you, but it's time to start growing up," Steph said, jerking her arm and throwing Callista off balance enough to get her to continue moving.

Their voices faded down the hallway as Draco looked on.

"Hey mate," Alan said from next to him, startling him.

"Sorry," the dark-haired teenager said, "you comin' back? We need help with arts and crafts."

"Yeh," Draco said.

"Oh, before I forget," Alan said, lowering his voice, "Friday, after work, Darren's scored tickets to a rugby match and he's bringing you, Mary, and me. Bring a hat, it's gonna be cold. And ditch the you-know-what, we might get searched."

"Alright," Draco said. He was a bit apprehensive about going out without the drugs, but then again, he'd never physically attended a muggle sporting match; he reckoned it would be something like attending a quidditch match, and Alan seemed excited about it.

The rest of the week passed in a blur of routine. Wake up, snort some coke, head to the orphanage, muddle through the day, walk to Darren's, maybe eat, do some lines with Mary, have sex once or twice, go to sleep, walk back to the orphanage the following day, occasionally stop by the Manor to switch out clothing. His mother liked the weed, and he showed her how to roll them herself and left a baggie and some papers with her.

On Friday morning, Draco left his illegal items at the Manor, and by evening, he was craving a hit like nothing he'd ever felt before. After clean-up, he and Alan walked to the exit to find Darren and Mary there, chatting with the plump receptionist, Madeline, probably to escape the bitter December evening chill. Draco's cheeks numbed almost immediately as he exited, and he pulled a black wool hat over his hair and ears. Mary hooked her arm through his and leaned into him the second they left the orphanage grounds, and he pulled her close to help keep her warm.

"Damn, these are good seats," Alan said, inspecting one of the tickets as they descended into the tube. Muggles everywhere, but Draco found he didn't really care anymore… except for the stain where a drunk or homeless bloke pissed against the wall, that was bloody disgusting.

"Where'd the tickets come from?" Alan asked.

"Conor and some of his mates were supposed to go," Darren replied, "but something came up and they couldn't make it. Lucky us."

"Damn, and they just gave them to you?" Alan asked.

"Yeah, I reckon business has been good lately," Darren replied as the train arrived, cutting off the conversation.

The annoying woman on the intercom instructed them to 'please mind the gap', and then they were off, Mary still leaning heavily on Draco.

"You alright McKay?" Darren asked.

"Just bloody knackered," Mary replied, stifling a yawn, "I'll be fine once we get outside again."

"Oh, I almost forgot, Mack Quaid's meeting us there," Darren said as he casually reached up for a handhold.

"Bloody hell Welch," Draco said, "all the useless shites in the city and you had to invite him?"

Darren held up a hand.

"Oi. Look, I know you don't get along but that's my mate you're talking about," Darren said.

"_And I have no weed, and no blow to take the edge off, perfect,_" Draco thought.

Draco groaned and considered bailing, then thought better of it.

"Alright, I'll ignore him if… just keep the wanker away from me," Draco said, "I make no guarantees I'll be able to keep my mouth shut if he starts up like he usually does."

That seemed to mollify Darren. The train car steadily grew more crowded with other fans attending the match, until they were pressed against one another in the final stop. The entire tube car emptied and they followed the crowds out into the frigid night air. Draco spotted their destination immediately, a massive oval shaped building on the far side of a small canal. Huge floodlights stretched above the top of the stadium proper, the refracting glow lighting up the air above the stadium. An almost palpable anticipatory energy filled the air as they walked through the parking lot. Draco recalled a ritual spell conducted by his father in the Manor, before the Dark Lord's return, and the feeling was similar: the sense of _something_ approaching. They proceeded through security checks, Draco thankful Alan warned him in advance. Then they were through and into the stadium itself, a massive multileveled concrete structure hosting dozens of small food stalls selling the kind of greasy and salty treats Draco had come to associate with munchies. They followed Darren around the inside edge of the stadium, through the yammering crowds, passing by several tunnels leading into the stadium itself. Eventually, they veered into one and emerged from the dim lighting into the seating area. Draco couldn't help but stare at the lights, rows and rows of them, brighter than any he'd yet seen in muggle London, shining down on the pitch and lighting it up as if it were midday. The building itself was massive; not as large as the one constructed for the quidditch world cup of course, but nearly half the size.

"_And they built it all without magic,_" Draco thought.

"First time in a stadium?" Mary said quietly as they lagged behind the others.

"Far as I can recall," Draco said.

"You're in for a treat, these are Martin's seats," Mary said.

They climbed about halfway up the first tier, Draco embarrassingly out of breath by the time they reached. They moved past Alan and Darren to sit in the two farthest seats, Draco on the outside. From here, he had an excellent view of the pitch; in the muggle world, it appeared the best seats were near the bottom. The voices of the individual muggles around him taking their seats blended together into a low background buzz, and Draco leaned back and soaked it all in. They even had massive screens on opposite sides of the stadium, hundreds of times larger than Darren's tele.

"Whoa, are those the new Air Jordans?" Alan asked from his right.

Draco turned to see Mack Quaid standing in the aisle and putting his foot up on the armrest of his seat, showing off a brand new black and red basketball trainer.

"_Well, this'll be a good test…_" Draco thought.

"Bet your arse it is, feast your eyes, gentlemen," Quaid said, "and lady."

"Damn," Alan said, clearly jealous.

Quaid looked over at Draco and Mary. Draco expected him to say something, but oddly enough, he ignored them both, sat down next to Alan, and started chatting with him.

"But do they make you jump higher," Darren asked.

"Yeah, of course," Mack replied, and he went into an explanation of the technology used in the shoe.

"That's not all though, guess how I got here," Mack said, pulling out a keychain.

"You bought the bike?" Alan asked.

"Damn right, finally took the plunge," Mack said, then started describing some kind of motorcycle. Draco felt completely out of his depth; he had no idea what Mack was talking about. While Alan excitedly asked more questions, Darren appeared to pay attention, but Draco caught him eyeing the sneakers and key with a thoughtful look on his face.

Some activity started on the field, beginning with a coloured flashing lights display to draw the crowd's attention. Draco alternated watching the field and the large screens as the players were announced, anthems were sung, and the match began. He knew nothing about rugby except one team wanted to advance the ball against the other, and there was kicking, tossing, and tackling involved. Rather than spoil the experience by asking a thousand questions, he merely followed along as the crowd cheered, or stood up, or jeered. The energy of the place, tens of thousands of muggles all shouting in unison at some play or other, infected him, and he found himself having a good time despite the cold and lack of drugs. Darren and Mack purchased some soft pretzels from a passing vendor, and a round of beers, which Draco happily drank, though Mary declined to drink when he offered. She'd been quiet most of the game, content to sit with her arm hooked through Draco's. He was about to ask how she was when Mack leaned over with another paper cup, filled to overflowing with more beer.

"Here, another one," he said.

Just then, the crowd roared, and the muggle in front of them shot up and threw his arms in the air, knocking the cup clean out of Mack's hand and straight into Draco's lap. The brew splattered all over his jeans and onto the floor.

"Quaid what the fuck," Draco said, leaping to his feet, trying to brush as much off of him as possible before it soaked through, to no avail. Mary pulled out the napkins they'd been provided with the pretzels, handed him some, and started helping him blot away the rapidly cooling liquid, but the meagre patches of paper weren't nearly up to the job.

"Shit, it was an accident," Mack said, apology written on his face, "Darren, I'm sorry, I swear."

"The fuck you apologizing to him for?" Draco said, glaring at Mack and waving a soaked napkin for emphasis.

Darren fixed Mack with a cold stare, then turned to Draco with a questioning look. Draco understood immediately; Darren had said something to Mack before the game, to leave Draco alone, and he now wanted to know if Mack had spilled his beer on purpose.

"Sorry Drake, it was an accident, you saw it Mary, didn't you? It was an accident," Mack said.

"Sorry Mack, I dozed off for a minute," Mary said, apparently deferring to Draco, "I didn't see it."

It was up to him. He could lie and drive Darren away from Mack, or he could tell the truth and just deal with it. Three weeks ago, he probably would have blown up at Mack and gotten Darren cross with him, but today, staring at Mack Quaid's idiotic fake blonde hair, he found he didn't really care in the slightest, and couldn't be bothered with the effort it took to summon up any false ire.

"_What's wrong with me?_" he thought.

"Yeah, it was an accident," he muttered.

"I need to use the loo anyway. Hopefully I can clean some of this up before my balls freeze off," he added, standing up and pointedly moving the opposite direction, away from the others. Mary moved ahead of him, and went with him to find the loo. They parted ways at the restroom and Draco pulled out about a dozen paper towels to try and clean up the mess on his trousers as best he could.

"_I look like I pissed myself_," he thought as he looked himself over in the mirror.

Draco emerged from the loo and, unable to find Mary, he wandered a bit, keeping the restroom in sight. He spotted a blonde at a kebab vendor who looked remarkably like the younger Greengrass, and he observed her for a few seconds, until she turned his way and locked her blue eyes on his.

"_Astoria!_" he thought as his eyes widened in shock.

"Draco?" she asked, and the young man standing next to her turned as well. He was from Hogwarts, a half-blood, though Draco couldn't exactly place his name.

She wore a long dark green skirt with black leather boots peeking out of the bottom, topped by a brand new looking beige muggle coat with light brown fur at the cuffs. He wore a stylish leather jacket and jeans, his light brown hair combed to one side, and looked much more comfortable in the muggle outfit than she did. Neither of them wore hats, a dead giveaway to copious use of warming charms in the freezing night air. The half-blood glanced down at Draco's damp crotch area and did a poor job of hiding his amusement.

"I barely recognized you," Astoria said, "what are you doing here?"

"Part of my probation," Draco replied, "what are _you_ doing here?"

"The new DADA professor started this program for extra credit if we went and did muggle things and wrote about them," she replied.

"And you just, randomly decided to see a rugby match in the middle of London, in the middle of December?" Draco asked.

"My father used to bring me to matches when I was a boy, I figured Astoria would enjoy the experience," the half-blood said, then he pulled Astoria closer to him. A piece of Draco wanted to smash the stupid half-blood in the nose for daring to touch his (former) betrothed, but a much larger part felt like something had just broken inside of him.

"He's an apprentice at Tilworth and Jones, Draco," Astoria said.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"_**This**_ _mediocre wizard whose name I can't even remember landed an apprenticeship at Tilworth and Jones?_" he thought.

"Thought they only take purebloods," Draco said.

The half-blood stood up a bit straighter.

"Times are changing, Malfoy," he said, "opportunities are opening up for everyone. I won't lie, it's hard work, but the pay is excellent, and I'm hoping to make full barrister in another a year or two."

He looked Draco up and down.

"Forgive me for saying, but you're not looking very well, are you alright?" he asked.

Draco sneered in response.

"Drake," Mary said from behind him as she slipped her arm through his, "who's this?"

"_Shit,_" Draco thought as his body froze while Astoria mouthed 'Drake' with a confused expression on her face. She wrapped an arm about the half-blood's midsection, holding him closer.

"Nobody, let's go," Draco said, turning away and pulling Mary with him.

"Draco, aren't you going to introduce us?" Astoria asked.

Draco paused and pursed his lips, then turned with a sigh.

"Mary," he said, gesturing to the muggle on his arm, "this is Astoria Greengrass, and… uh.."

"Terry Boot," the half-blood said, making a small wave to Mary, "pleasure."

"_Right, that was his name_," Draco thought.

"Mary, you attended Beauxbatons, I presume?" Astoria asked.

Mary started to shake her head and reply but Draco cut her off.

"It was a pleasure meeting both of you, enjoy the match," Draco said, steering Mary away again, this time successfully.

"Who were they?" Mary asked once they reached the tunnel leading to the seats.

"Former classmates, I guess you could call them," Draco replied, glancing over his shoulder to see if they'd followed and relaxing slightly when he couldn't find them.

"They went to that boarding school?" Mary asked.

Draco nodded as they emerged into the artificial light of the stadium. The roar of the crowd drowned out her next question and Draco chose to act as if she hadn't said anything. They returned to their seats but Draco couldn't focus on anything except the chance encounter he'd just had.

"_Would they guess she's a muggle?_" Draco thought.

The thought of the embarrassment he would endure if word got around about his 'disgusting' habit made his insides curdle.

Mary was alright, at least he could tolerate her presence and conversation, and that was more than he could say for almost anyone he knew, except Theo of course, and Blaise to a lesser extent. The Greengrass girls were alright too, he supposed. The problem was, none of them would understand. They'd look at him with pity, shake their heads, whisper about him behind his back…

"_Oh Merlin, what if word gets back to Mother?_" he thought as they sat down again, "_she might _actually_ refuse to speak to me again._"

After all, she'd never reconciled with Andromeda, his _other_ aunt, after she'd ran off and married a muggleborn, and Draco'd been consorting with an _actual_ muggle, not just a muggleborn. He buried his face in his hands.

"Drake, you okay?" Mary asked.

"Augh, no, I need alcohol, lots of it," he said, vigorously rubbing his face to try wake up from this nightmare. Only a few seconds passed and a beer appeared in his hand, ice cold from having been left out in the open too long, and he swallowed it down in large gulps, pausing halfway to belch up the gas he'd taken in.

"_Bloody Terry Boot, with his Tilworth and Jones apprenticeship,_" Draco thought, "_he ought to be begging _**me**_ for employment. If the world were right, he would be._"

Despite his internal grumbling, Draco had to admit to himself he was somewhat impressed by the apprenticeship. Tilworth and Jones were the top law advisory firm in all of Great Britain, possibly one of the best in the world, and Terry's skills would be in high demand, his reputation increasing in lockstep. The more he thought about it, the more alcohol he wanted. He polished off a second beer in rapid succession.

"_And he's dating Astoria," _he thought.

Astoria, promised to him in matrimony before he'd even gotten his letter, then snatched away like everything else when their fortunes faded at the end of the war. That hadn't hurt nearly as much as seeing her with someone whose name he couldn't even remember, and apparently happy, proud to be with him. She'd only grown more beautiful as she matured, and Draco's inner voice railed at the injustice of it all. Boot's fortunes seemed to have expanded magnificently after the war; almost everyone else seemed to be at least getting by, even his classmates. Then there was Draco Malfoy, pawning off furniture to buy muggle cocaine, accepted only by the lowest of the low: muggle delinquents and a poor orphan muggle girl. He felt said girl pressing her frozen fingertips firmly into the base of his neck, massaging and kneading in an attempt to ease away his stress. He sighed as the simple gesture reminded him again what a jerk he was being to her.

"No matter what, I'm here for you," she whispered into his ear.

The crowd roared but he'd completely lost interest. The game ended while he still stewed in his thoughts, and he followed after Darren, Alan, and Mack in a well-beyond-tipsy daze as Mary leaned into him while they walked. Mack left them in the parking lot while the rest of them headed for the tube. They needed to wait for a few train cars to pass by before they managed to board one, and Draco stayed quiet, his arm about Mary's shoulders, holding her to him. In Darren's apartment they took turns relieving their bladders, and Draco and Mary retired to her room, where she all but collapsed into bed.

"Bloody hell, I'm exhausted," she said, yawning as she pulled off her sweater, revealing a white t-shirt beneath. She pulled her arms inside, unhooked her bra, and manoeuvred to pull the black undergarment out one of her sleeves, "I don't think I can go tonight, love."

"S'alright," Draco said, "I'm not in the mood anyway."

Draco fell asleep to the drunken haze of disturbing thoughts of a world passing him by, and awoke to the semi-familiar '_click-click-click'_ of an owl tapping on the glass of the window. Still mostly asleep and with the beginnings of what was sure to be a vicious hangover, he rolled out of bed and struggled with the blinds for a moment in the murky dim before giving up and pushing them out of the way. Condensation on the inside of the glass kept him from getting a good look at the owl before he managed to force the window up. Frosty dawn air flowed into the room, giving rise to gooseflesh where it ran over his bare legs. A brown Ministry owl sat on the sill, its leg already extended. Draco quickly checked behind him to ensure Mary still slept, and quickly pulled the scroll from the case on the owl's leg.

"I don't have anything for you, bugger off," he whispered.

The owl ruffled its feathers but did as he suggested, flapping its large wings twice to clear the nearest rooftop as Draco hurriedly pulled the window down again.

"_What in Merlin's name were they thinking, sending an owl when they know I'm serving probation in muggle London?_" Draco thought.

Quietly, he unfurled the letter, noting the wax seal and ribbon at the bottom first. He squinted his eyes and read by the light of the coming dawn as it filtered through the dirty glass.

_Department of Magical Law Enforcement  
Ministry of Magic  
Whitehall, London_

_December 12, 1998_

Draco scanned past the rest of the header to the salutation.

_Dear Lord Malfoy,_

"_Oh shit,_" Draco thought as his stomach dropped down about to his bowels.

_We regret to inform you that last night, your father, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, passed away while incarcerated on Azkaban Island. His remains will be delivered to Malfoy Manor today, between the hours of 10am and 2pm. _

_Your probation appointment at the Ministry on Sunday December 13 is cancelled on account of grievance. Please accept our deepest sympathies for your loss. _

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Rebecca Fawley  
Head of Magical Law Enforcement  
Ministry of Magic, London_

Below that was the wax and ribbon seal of the Ministry of Magic. Fawley had signed her name with an extra flourish in the 'R' and the 'F', but the rest was completely illegible.

"_Deepest sympathies my arse_," Draco thought.

It was starting to sink in: his father was dead. He was the last living Malfoy. Draco needed a hit. Badly. Unfortunately, all his stuff was at the Manor. Draco dressed quietly and left while Mary still slept, stealing down the steps and into the biting cold. He pulled his jacket close as he walked the streets, dodging the odd frozen puddle here and there as he made his way back to the Leaky. The sun rose slowly, casting its wan light over the wakening city. He tapped his way into Diagon Alley with his index finger, then flooed home to Malfoy Manor. The large double doors opened for him as he ascended the steps to the main entrance.

"_I should probably find Mother, but first things first,_" he thought.

He took the steps two at a time to his room, pulled out the cocaine canister and snorted two nails' worth, then picked up a few joints and dropped all but one of them into his jacket pocket. He lit up a fat one and, after changing into a pure black button-down collared shirt, slacks, and polished shoes, he threw on a matching robe. Now less unprepared to face his mother, Draco stepped into the hall and started searching.

"Mother?" he called, but only echoes and silence greeted him.

He walked the mostly barren rooms, eventually finding her seated at the large dining room table on the first floor. Several untouched meals lay at irregular intervals, and Mother, wearing a fitted black high-necked sleeveless dress, sat in one of the stiff-backed heavy wooden chairs near the far side. A candelabra floated in the air above her, casting shadows across her face. As Draco approached, he saw a similar Ministry letter spread out on the table in front of her, while she sat staring ahead, hands gloved in black up to her elbows. As he approached the seat next to her, he spotted wet track marks running down her cheeks reflecting the light of the candles above.

"The day we married was the summer solstice," she said quietly, "it was a beautiful day, the wedding of the decade. All of the most influential individuals of high society and quite a few from the Continent as well were in attendance, naturally. I remember thinking about what my life would be like, our life together. The Dark Lord was there, of course, and your father was so sure, so confident that he would save our way of life. All of us were…"

She looked up at him and held out a hand for his joint, which he passed to her wordlessly. She took a few hits, still staring off into space. Already feeling his buzz starting to fade, Draco produced another one and lit up again.

"This isn't the life I imagined for us on that day. I didn't want this for you, Draco," she said, turning to him, "I'm so sorry."

She sniffed a few times and fresh tears ran down her face as she fought to keep it from crumpling.

"_Do something, idiot_," Draco thought, but he'd never been very good at comforting others, much less his own mother. A tingle at the back of his mind rescued him from having to watch his mother break down in front of him. It appeared the ancestral wards had shifted with his father's death, immediately recognizing him as Lord Malfoy.

"Someone's at the gate," he said, "I'll go meet them."

Draco moved past his mother, through the ground level and out the main doors into the increasingly overcast day, past the ruins of the fountain, to the ornate iron gate marking the edge of the property. Just beyond the dark iron bars stood two men wearing all black, one elderly with a flowing white beard and one middle-aged with streaks of grey in his hair and moustache. Both wore matching top hats. Between them floated a closed black and gold polished casket, and a large, thin box rested on the ground next to it, held upright by the younger of the two.

"Lord Malfoy," the older one said, removing his hat.

"Enter," Draco said, and the gates opened on their own.

"My name is Henry Ekbert, and this is my son, James," the old wizard said, as the younger also removed his hat, "very sorry for your loss. We're under contract to arrange the viewing and internment of your father's remains in the Malfoy mausoleum."

"There will be no viewing," Draco's mother said from behind him.

He turned to see his mother walking down the path towards the gate, the Ministry letter folded and clutched in one hand. She had donned a small black cocktail hat, complete with dark lace to veil her pale face, and looked very much the part of a widow in mourning.

"Lady Malfoy," Henry said, "are you certain? The contract calls for three days-"

"I am aware of the terms," Narcissa said, "I do not wish to prolong this any longer than absolutely necessary. The internment will commence immediately. Leave us for a moment; I wish to see my husband one last time."

"Mother, don't-," Draco started, but a single glance from his mother, through the veil no less, was enough to stop him short.

The casket stayed levitating a few feet off the ground as the two funeral workers walked a respectful distance away. Narcissa approached the casket and lifted the lid, stifling a gasp into a sniffle as she looked down on the body of her husband. Even from several feet away, Draco could see the head and upper torso of his father, dressed in dark formal dress robes with a golden epaulette on each shoulder and a dark yellow braid strung diagonally across the front, crossing the dark buttons on the robe. Although it was clear the Ekberts had done what they could, and his father looked substantially better than the last time Draco had seen him, there was no disguising the hollowness of his cheeks, or the scant remains of wispy hair on his scalp. His mother said a few words, too quiet for him to hear, then kissed two fingers and placed them on Lucius' forehead before stepping back and turning to walk to Draco. She stopped to look at him, and Draco swallowed. His legs felt like lead as he walked to the casket, almost as if he were watching himself approach. Emotion swelled up from within as he forced himself to look down at the too-still face of his father, peaceful in death. For nearly two decades, Draco only wanted to follow in his father's footsteps. Not now though, not when he saw so clearly where it'd led. His father had always been the light showing him the way. Now he was lost in the dark.

"_This is it, it's all up to me now,_" Draco thought, "_I don't know what to do._ _Merlin help me._"

"Goodbye Father," he said.

He reached up and slowly closed the heavy lid with a soft thump, then walked back to his mother.

"Ready?" he asked.

His mother nodded, and Draco motioned to the funeral workers who moved to flank the casket again. Narcissa led the way across the grounds, through the forested paths leading to the Malfoy crypt located near the north-eastern edge of the estate, and the casket followed behind Draco. He shivered in the cold; he'd forgotten he couldn't cast a warming charm and hadn't brought heavy outerwear. Still, he resolved to suffer through the discomfort until they returned to the Manor; he certainly didn't want the funeral workers to know he didn't have a wand.

The small stone building appeared slightly off the main path, visible from farther away now the leaves had all fallen. His mother walked straight up the three steps and laid her hand upon the wall, causing the stone door to swing inward with a grating sound of stone upon stone. Torches magically lit as they entered the structure, revealing several bronze and marble busts of Malfoys gone by, and a large spiral staircase in the centre of the room, leading down to the crypt. Footsteps echoed off stone walls as they descended underground, past the long-sealed alcoves where the remains of his ancestors lay, an unbroken line going back ten centuries. They walked the hallway by the light of the flickering torches until they reached the first open alcove. With a wave and nudge of their wands, the Ekberts manoeuvred the casket into the alcove, settling it with a gentle thump.

"Any words, Lady Malfoy?" Henry asked.

"No," she whispered.

"_She's barely holding it together,_" Draco thought.

They looked to Draco, but he only gestured for them to get on with it. The two of them worked together, their wandwork causing the stone to flow and meld until only a small inset remained. With a last spiralling flourish of his wand, the elder Ekbert carved words into the stone above the alcove.

_Lucius Abraxas Malfoy_

_1954-1998_

The alcove beside him lay empty, and Narcissa spared a moment to stare at it quietly. Assuming she didn't remarry, she'd be entombed there, though perhaps not for another eighty or ninety years. Without a word, she turned and strode towards the exit, the torches extinguishing themselves as they departed. At the entrance to the mausoleum, the old stone doors closed by themselves once they were out in the forest again. They returned to the Manor in silence, Draco now only keeping his limbs from shivering through sheer force of will. Once they reached the main gate path, James Ekbert handed over the wooden parcel to Narcissa.

"The portrait," he said.

"Thank you," Narcissa said, "Draco, see them out."

Draco nodded and escorted the two funeral workers to the gate, where he shook their hands in turn.

"Good luck to you, Lord Malfoy, I think you're going to need it," Henry Ekbert said. Draco didn't detect any sarcasm, just a genuine sense of pity from the old man.

"_Probably would have preferred the sarcasm, to be honest,_" Draco thought.

He didn't reply, only nodded once, and the two funeral workers stepped beyond the gate and apparated away with a pair of identical cracks. He returned to the ruined fountain to find his mother staring at the broken stone.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Bit of remodelling," Draco replied.

She nodded, fingering her wand as if she were contemplating an attempt at repairing it. In the end she turned towards the garden.

"Walk with me," she said.

"I'll need a warming charm," Draco said, "otherwise I'm going inside."

Magical warmth flowed through his limbs as she wordlessly cast the charm. They walked together around the side of the building and into the rear garden. Overgrown with weeds during the summer, only the hardiest still stood upright between the stones of the path. Fallen, unswept leaves crunched beneath their feet as they walked, and the portrait within the wooden frame floated in front of Narcissa, obviously charmed with a featherweight spell.

"Any reason we're strolling about the garden in the middle of winter?" Draco asked.

"The Ministry, in its infinite generosity, has given me three hours leave to roam the grounds to bury my husband," she replied, "I intend to use every second."

They walked among the dead branches of the trees and bushes in the garden for nearly half an hour, until they emerged at a large clearing. Draco knew it was where his parents had made their wedding vows. Narcissa stopped at the edge of the clearing, looking here and there for a moment, probably recalling things that had happened on that day.

"Let's go," she said quietly.

They made their way back to the Manor in silence, towards the rear entrance. His mother stopped just outside the doorway for a moment before crossing the threshold. She led Draco to the dining room and used her wand to open the protective frame around the portrait, then levitated it to sit high on the wall above the head of the table. After muttering a sticking charm to ensure it didn't fall, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. Draco looked up at the portrait of his father, clearly made when he was younger, perhaps Draco's first or second year at Hogwarts. His golden hair still fell to his shoulders as he dozed in a high-backed leather chair.

"_I've already sold that one,_" Draco realized.

A fire blazed merrily in a hearth next to him, and his father's old snake headed cane leaned against the chair. A decanter of firewhiskey sat on a table next to the chair.

"Excuse me Draco, I need to be alone," his mother said, and she walked briskly out of the room, her footsteps echoing about the empty manor as she climbed the grand staircase. Draco stayed a moment longer before heading upstairs himself. He'd almost reached his room when he heard a muffled wail from his mother's room, breaking through the silencing charm she'd no doubt placed on the door. The sound nearly tore him in two, and he rushed into his room and slammed the door, the anguished cry still reverberating about his head. He only lasted about ten seconds.

"_I've got to get out of here,_" he thought.

He threw off the robes then chased them down to fish the drugs out of the pockets.

"_Mary,_" he thought, "_I'll go see Mary, she'll help._"

He tore off down the stairs, humming to himself so he wouldn't have to hear his mother, and flooed to Diagon. He alternated running and walking as the sun dipped low in the sky, fighting the stitch in his side. He reached Darren's apartment and slipped into the stairwell behind an older couple who lived on the first floor. Taking the steps two at a time until he reached the fourth floor, Draco knocked loudly on the apartment door. Darren opened it and gave him a once-over.

"Right on time," Darren said, grabbing his jacket and keys from the pegs near the door, "I'll leave you to it."

The drug dealer made a hasty retreat out of the apartment, leaving a confused and panting Draco in his wake. Mary sat on the frayed couch with used tissues littered across the coffee table, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, clear evidence of a prolonged crying session.

"What happened," Draco asked, stepping in and closing the door. She looked at him for a moment and motioned him to sit next to her, which he obliged.

"Drake, I um…" she started, taking deep breathes as she looked up at him.

She closed her eyes and took another steadying breath, but when she opened her mouth, no words came out. Finally, she picked up a small white rod from the table and thrust it into his hands. It was fairly simple; the only distinguishing feature a panel on one side with two pink lines running across it.

"All right, what the bloody hell am I looking at?" Draco asked, turning it over.

"It's a pregnancy test, Drake," Mary said.

Draco's mind swam about for a moment until it stumbled upon the implications of what she'd said.

"Shit," he said, then instantly realized his mistake and exactly what must be going through Mary's mind at the moment, "I mean… shit."

He tossed the test onto the coffee table and leapt to his feet, pacing back and forth and repeatedly dragging his fingers through his hair.

"I thought you said you were… what was it, that thing that stops you getting pregnant?" he asked.

"The pill, but I missed one, I didn't think it would matter…" Mary said.

"The pill. Is it not a single pill?" Draco asked.

Mary looked at him like he was a complete idiot for a moment, then explained.

"No, you have to take it every day for a month or it doesn't work," she replied.

"You miss one bloody pill out of a month and it's useless?" Draco asked gesturing with his hands in disbelief.

"Muggle bullshit's practically a guaranteed pregnancy," he muttered, "no wonder there's so many."

"Drake," Mary said, and the tenor and catch of her voice made him pause and look at her, on the verge of breaking down completely.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he said, moving to the couch again and lifting her into a tight embrace. She sobbed and clutched onto him tightly.

"What are we going to do?" she asked into his shoulder.

"_We're going to end that fucking pregnancy, because there's no way in Merlin's hairy ballsack I can sire a half-blood son,_" Draco thought.

He pulled back from her, holding her with one hand on each arm just below her shoulders, and looked down into her beautiful blue distraught eyes. In an instant, he knew. He knew she wanted to keep the child, and she wanted to stay with him, wanted him to help raise it. As fucked up as he was, as much of a complete miserable cockup he'd made of his entire life, she wanted to stay with him and raise a child together. A cynical whisper inside him wondered if it was only because she thought he had money, but the fact there was one person in the world who acted like he was actually worth something more than dirt squashed that notion like a bug.

"We'll make it work," he heard himself say.

Even though he knew it was impossible. Even though the reason he said it was because he wanted someone in his life who needed him and that was probably the absolute worst reason to have a child. He knew it was completely selfish and he knew this was going to be a huge problem down the road, but he wanted _someone_, even if it was some poor orphan muggle girl.

"_I am the very definition of pathetic_," he thought.

When she threw her arms around him though, for a brief moment, no price was too steep to pay. She clung to him desperately, then pulled his face down to kiss him hungrily, begging with her lips. At first he resisted, but as usual he only lasted a few seconds as desire quickly stirred in him, and hardness strained against his black slacks. They stumbled into her bedroom together, clothes coming off as Draco locked the door. He turned around to see her already completely naked and settling onto the bed, legs spread wide and eyes begging him to join her. He quickly stripped out of his remaining clothing, silently cursing his shirt buttons, and obliged, keeping close to let their body heat fend off the chill of the room. She seemed almost desperate to have him again, quickly reaching down to position him against her entrance, and he wasn't going to turn her down.

"_This is what got you into this mess in the first place_," Draco thought as her wetness spread and he stretched her to envelop him fully, "_then again, isn't this what you came here for?_"

All his turmoil, the reality of losing his father, losing Astoria, the unfairness of his situation, he put it all into the intimate act with Mary McKay, holding her down when she tried to move, thrusting into her harder than he ever had before. Her initial moans as he first penetrated grew to cries pain or anguish or pleasure, he couldn't tell, but she didn't tell him to stop so he did what he liked, slamming so hard the bed slid on its legs with each thrust; the neighbours could piss off.

He unloaded everything into her, a willing receptacle for all the fucked-up shit in his life, grunting and shuddering as he finished. Draco rolled off her, lightheaded and panting. He stepped to his discarded trousers, fishing around for the film canister.

"Fuck," he said, rejoining her in bed and snorting a fingernail's worth as she crossed her ankles and propped up a pillow to lean back against.

He held the canister out to Mary but she looked down at it, then up at him.

"I can't," she said, "I'm…"

Her hands moved to her lower abdomen.

"Oh right," Draco said, like a complete arse, "guess this stuff probably isn't too good for the… baby."

"_Baby," _he thought, "_shit."_

He did some mental arithmetic, nine months from Halloween was the end of July, at the earliest. He would be done with probation by the end of March. She wouldn't start showing until…

"_Damn, when do women start showing pregnancy?_" he thought. He guessed it would be about three or four months.

"Are you okay?" Mary asked, "that was… not that I'm complaining, but you were…"

"My father died yesterday," Draco said, "we just buried him."

"Oh my god," she said, one hand going to her mouth and eyebrows coming together in concern, "oh my god, that's why you were wearing black, holy shit."

"Yeah, it's been an interesting day," he said, snorting another fingernail of coke in the other nostril.

"_Got to have balance in my life, after all,_" he thought.

"So… are you okay?" Mary asked, "do you want to talk about it?"

Draco didn't respond.

"It can help," Mary said, looking down at the bed for a moment, "when my dad died I… well I'm glad I had someone to talk to. We can talk about the other stuff later, I guess."

He sighed deeply.

"_It can't hurt,_" he thought, "_and would you rather talk about the baby growing in her womb?_"

"He was in prison," Draco said, monotone, "horrible place. I was allowed to visit once a month. I didn't really want to, but my mother… I went for her, since she's not able to."

Wary of the Statute, Draco had to pick and choose his words carefully. Mary leaned into him and wrapped her arms about his neck as he talked, resting both her legs across the top of his thighs.

"As far back as I can remember, he always had these high expectations of me. No matter what I did, it was never good enough," Draco said, "even when he ruined us and ended up in prison, he was still trying to tell me what to do."

Draco shook his head.

"He's my father, and I'm supposed to feel bad he's gone," Draco said, "but I only feel bad for my mother. I don't care at all that he's gone."

He went quiet for a long moment.

"_Maybe there's something wrong with me,_" Draco thought, "_then again, Theo didn't care much when his father died. He almost seemed glad._"

Mary laced her fingers with his.

"Someone told me once you feel how you feel, and it's not right or wrong, it just is," she said.

"Yeah well, my life is pretty fucked up because of him," Draco said, "we're basically pariahs now. Makes me feel like shit."

"What about those two we met at the stadium?" Mary asked.

"_Astoria,_" Draco thought. He shook his head.

"They were just fishing for gossip," Draco replied, "and flaunting their… good fortune, I guess, in my face. It's like that with almost everyone I know now."

Mary kissed him on the shoulder.

"Well, I don't care about any of that, and I doubt Darren or Alan do either," Mary said, stroking his hand, "you've got new friends now, and me. And you know I'm amazing, worth more than both of them put together."

"_Son of a bitch,_" Draco thought as he felt his mood lighten, "_talking actually helps."_

"Oh, you think so, do you?" Draco asked with a grin.

"I _know_ so," Mary said, drifting her hand down to his stomach, where she traced a few circles about his navel.

"Are you really serious about wanting to figure this out?" she asked, "with the baby and all?"

"Yeah," he replied, figuring he could always change his mind later.

"_What am I doing…_" he thought.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Okay," she said, "Wow. It can be like a new start for both of us, maybe we can even move away somewhere new. Honestly Drake I was kind of worried you were going to… freak out and run or something. I should have known you're better than that."

Draco's stomach twisted at her words, but he figured he could defer any decisions until later, after he'd had some time to think about it. He didn't really feel like another round, and apparently neither did Mary, so they ducked under the covers and Draco's mind whirled with the events of the day as she nestled into him and drifted off to sleep, warm against his side. Eventually though, sheer exhaustion made his eyelids heavier, and he slipped into a deep slumber.

* * *

Somehow, through a combination of alcohol, copious amounts of weed, and a borderline excessive and frequent doses of cocaine, Draco managed to make it to Friday when, after Mary crashed to bed early, he returned home to find a brunette witch wearing a red Gringott's courier uniform waiting in front of the Manor gates.

"Draco Malfoy?" she asked, standing up and vanishing the chair she'd conjured for herself.

"Yes?" he replied.

"You're to appear tomorrow morning at Gringott's for the official transfer of the Malfoy vault assets," she said, handing him a rolled-up parchment with the Gringott's wax seal holding it shut, "don't be late."

With a crack and a swirl of fog, she apparated away, leaving Draco to walk through the gates alone. He ignored the echoes of his footsteps as he strolled to his room, cracked the wax seal, and spread the letter on his bed as the desk had been sold off the prior week. He needed to be there at 10am the following morning for a meeting with a goblin named Gragnaff. The goblins were a nasty bunch and he'd no doubt they would try to penalize him somehow if he didn't show up on time. Draco fished around his father's old desk for the vault key, a little golden thing, then returned to his room and set the alarm on his muggle wristwatch. He also opened the curtains wide, just in case the alarm on the watch failed to wake him, the morning sun would. After smoking one last joint, he flopped onto his mattress and passed out.

The next morning, he awoke to the watch's beeping and peeled his eyes open enough to blearily chop a line of coke. As he started mentally cataloguing the remaining furniture in the Manor in terms of how much cocaine he could purchase with them, the though struck him that maybe, perhaps, his habit was getting a bit out of control.

"_I'll slow down once the pregnancy is sorted,_" Draco thought, fighting the urge to chop a second line at the thought of the time bomb growing in Mary's stomach.

He shook his head as the coke cleared his thoughts up, and threw on a set of dark blue winter robes. Giving himself a once-over in the mirror, he sniffed and wiped at his nose a few times as it dripped from the irritation.

"_I look like shit,_" he thought, staring at his bloodshot eyes and days old stubble, then he exited the room and stumbled his way down the stairs to the floo for Diagon Alley.

Draco walked through the crisp morning air, the low angle of the sun seemingly doing nothing to dim its brightness as blinding white glare assaulted him from both the sky and off the snow-covered sidewalks and roofs. He exhaled with relief as he crossed the threshold of the goblin run bank and brushed off a few imaginary snowflakes. Draco approached the first available teller, a disgusting little creature indistinguishable from all the other disgusting little creatures manning the counters.

"Draco Malfoy, I have an appointment," he said.

The goblin looked him over carefully then spoke in a cultured accent completely at odds with its vicious appearance.

"Follow me, Mr. Malfoy," the goblin said. It hopped down from its seat and walked towards the rear of the bank, where the passage to the vaults lay. Draco followed it into a large, lavishly decorated office with an older looking, overweight goblin wearing a purple overcoat sitting at a gold gilded desk at the far end, running through figures on a few sheaves of parchment.

"Draco Malfoy to see you Gragnaff sir," the teller said.

"Enter, Mr. Malfoy," Gragnaff said in a gravelly voice before turning to the teller, "send Urnok in."

Draco sniffed and wiped his nose again as he sat in front of the large desk as Gragnaff opened a leather-bound book that had been placed to one side. He paused as he looked up at Draco.

"You are bleeding, Mr. Malfoy," Gragnaff said.

Draco looked down at his hand in alarm to see a smear of blood across his knuckle where he'd wiped his nose. He touched it and his fingertips came away red.

"_Oh shit,_" he thought.

"It is convenient, because we need a blood print here," Gragnaff said, turning the book around to face Draco. The goblin also offered him a handkerchief, which Draco debated taking.

"Do not bleed on the carpet," Gragnaff said. Draco relented and accepted the small silk square. He swiped his nose again and pressed his bloody thumb in the appropriate place, followed by Gragnaff signing next to it. The goblin studied the book for a moment and then, seemingly satisfied with the authenticity, closed it as Draco dabbed at his nose, the white silk coming away spotted with dark crimson.

A knock at the door preceded its opening, and a shorter, younger goblin entered.

"You called, assistant manager?"

"We're descending to the vaults, transfer of the Malfoy family assets necessitates an inspection," Gragnaff said, standing up from behind the desk.

"Yes sir," Urnok said.

They walked through the back passage of the bank to the cart waiting to take them down to the lower caverns.

Urnok manned the front of the cart to manage their speed while Gragnaff sat in the back, opposite Draco. The goblin didn't seem inclined to say anything and Draco wasn't about to strike up a conversation. He knew there was nothing left in the vault but the goblins were always particular about their little protocols, and he knew better than to try and avoid this trip. After a dizzying ride down to the lowest sublevels where all of the oldest wizarding family vaults hid, carved into the bedrock, they stepped off the cart.

Draco produced the vault key from his robes, flipped up the ancient cover and turned. The perfectly oiled goblin-made tumblers opened almost soundlessly. He pulled the door open and magical lights illuminated the interior, a massive chamber which once held millions of galleons, now stripped nearly bare. All of the artefacts and gemstones, all the jewellery, the collected wealth of generations, had been confiscated first by Lord Voldemort to buy the favours and influence he needed to wage his war, then by the Ministry to help pay for the rebuilding of their society and to compensate the numerous families that had suffered loss at the hands of the Dark Lord and his followers. Only a few pieces of furniture, several simple moving but silent portraits of various ancestors, and a handful of trinkets or heirlooms remained. Gragnaff followed Draco into the vault sniffing in distaste as their footsteps echoed while they looked around.

"This will be quicker than I thought," the assistant manager said.

The two goblins started cataloguing, Gragnaff speaking while Urnok wrote in a large book he carried in one hand, while Draco followed a few steps behind. He was craving another hit already, and the goblins were taking their sweet time noting down each item.

"_Can't imagine how long this would have taken if everything was still in here,_" Draco thought. He stared at the ground, the outlines of large heavy objects that had covered it until recently still visible as marks or shadows on the rock. His mind turned back to the pregnancy and the fact he still had no real plan. A yelp from up ahead distracted him and he looked up to see Urnok caught in the grips of an enchanted coat stand, its many appendages overzealously lifting the goblin into the air in their attempt to tear his clothing off after so many years in storage.

"Stop fooling around Urnok, and get back down here," Gragnaff yelled as the inventory book dropped to the ground, forgotten in the chaos.

Draco felt real laughter bubble up from within as the manager continued to berate his unfortunate subordinate. He reached a hand out to steady himself on an old vanity, but as soon as he touched it, he heard a distinct 'click' sound. Draco froze, mid-guffaw. Slowly, he turned to the vanity; the mirror was long gone, but a drawer had popped out near the bottom of the frame that once held it. He realized the drawer was much deeper than the frame itself.

"_Undetectable Extension,_" Draco thought as he carefully lifted the bloody handkerchief up off the surface of the antique, "_with a blood clavis_."

He chanced a look inside, and his eyes widened. There, in the recesses of the small wooden drawer, lay a wand, hidden and long forgotten. Draco glanced back to the goblins without turning his head. Gragnaff now wielded a golden dagger and repeatedly smashed the blade into the base of the stand. Draco slipped the wand out and slid the drawer shut, where it blended seamlessly back into the frame. For a split second he considered his probation and what would happen if he were discovered with a wand, but quickly justified his action to himself. If he needed to defend himself, he'd rather have a fighting chance than wait for the Ministry to come save him. He stowed the wand in the inside pocket of his robes and leaned against the vanity as the enchantments on the coat stand sputtered and died under the assault of the goblin blade, dropping Urnok unceremoniously to the ground.

"You could have helped, wizard," Urnok snarled as he scrambled to his feet and snatched up the fallen inventory book.

"Not my place to interfere in your task, goblin," Draco replied.

"Enough," Gragnaff said, "Gringott's will not compensate you for the loss of your unruly furniture."

Draco sneered in response but said nothing. Gragnaff apparently took that as acceptance and continued with the inventory of what remained. They completed in less than half an hour, even with the distraction offered by the now disenchanted coat stand. Draco used the small key to lock the vault again, for what good it was worth with how little there was inside, and signed the inventory log, completing the transfer. Neither of the goblins spoke during the return journey, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts, the pilfered wand resting inside his robes, next to his heart. He'd picked it up almost on a whim, but now the very real possibility of being caught with a spare wand had him thinking of Azkaban again.

"_Then again, with a wand, I could probably end that pregnancy without anyone suspecting_," he thought.

When he returned home, he dropped the vault key back into his father's old desk.

"_Suppose it's my desk now,_" he thought as he closed the drawer with a heavy clunk.

With his mother probably sleeping off whatever she'd taken, Draco entered the library. Bereft of the reading tables and chairs that had once dotted the room, the shelves were wholly untouched. The knowledge accumulated over the centuries was powerful, and Draco wouldn't part with them unless absolutely necessary. He carefully pulled the wand from his pocket and held it up with two hands, studying the length.

"_Wonder whose it was…. Hawthorn, rather flexible, no idea what the core could be," _Draco thought as he hesitated for a moment, "_Fuck it, it's not like you've got another wand lying around._"

"_Lumos,_" he said, and, with an exhilaration he didn't know he was still capable of feeling, the tip of the wand lit up with pale white light. It wasn't quite as bright as his original wand would have been, but at least it worked.

"_A little practice and you'll get used to me,_" Draco thought, looking at the wand again.

He snorted another bump of coke, and, with renewed focus and by the light of his new wand, sought the spell he needed. It only took about forty minutes of alternating between pulling books and sitting cross-legged on the stone floor. In the same dusty tome as a Malfoy family potion for determining strength of blood relation, he discovered a charm to terminate unwanted pregnancy. It was a relatively simple charm; the instructions stated it usually worked on the first try, but might need to be cast up to three days in a row, which wouldn't be an issue since Draco was there practically every day now.

He practiced the wand motions a few times, then turned to face away from the books to try it with the incantation.

"_Praesemin extinguo,_" he said, ending with a small flourish. A pulse of distortion rippled towards the wall. He assumed that meant he'd cast it successfully, but practiced several more times just to be sure. He breathed a deep sigh.

"_Maybe_ _I'll keep the wand at the Manor after taking care of this,_" he thought, "_no sense giving Clark any chance to cite me for a probation violation._"

The following Monday, Draco completed his day at the orphanage then made the walk to Darren's. He wore a heavy grey trench coat against the biting wind, and kept a hand on his wand inside one of the pockets as he walked. A full fifteen minutes passed before he remembered he could once again cast a warming charm.

Once again, he slipped into the building behind another tenant, but stopped short of knocking on the door when he heard raised voices from within, and paused to listen through the door.

"Listen, Mary, I like the bloke, but he's not exactly father of the year material, is he?" Darren said, "more like a slow-motion train wreck in progress. What are you thinking?"

Mary mumbled something too quiet for Draco to make out.

"You're gonna ruin your entire life," Darren said, "and that guy, when his probation's up, if he even makes it, five to one says he's gone the next day. Fuck, Bruno's gonna kill me."

Mary said something else Draco couldn't catch.

"No, I'm trying to look out for _you_," Darren said, "you're my best mate's kid sister, you're practically _my_ sister, and so trust me when I say this, it's for your own good and not just mine: Drake Malfoy only hangs about with us, and you, because I keep him supplied. I understand that. Alan understands that. Hell, even Mack gets it."

"Fuck you Welch, you're wrong," Mary said, "you don't know him like I do."

Darren made an exasperated sound, and Draco could practically see him throwing his arms in the air. He decided he'd heard enough, and rapped smartly on the door. Mary opened it, storm clouds on her brow from her recent row with Darren, who was nowhere to be seen.

"Have you ate?" Draco asked.

"No," Mary replied, grabbing her jacket and hat from the pegs near the door, "let's go."

They walked to a nearby restaurant that served halfway decent fish and chips, despite the sticky floor, taking turns asking questions like they usually did, perhaps pretending everything was normal when it was so obviously, world-shatteringly not.

"What's your best mate's name, from school?" Mary asked.

"Why do you want to know?" Draco asked.

"If we're going to be parents together, I'm assuming you'll introduce them to me at some point," Mary said, "so I'd like to know a bit about them first."

Draco sighed. This was a bad idea, but then again… why not?

"Well, there's Theo, our parents were…" Draco said.

"_Allies, Death Eaters, Pureblood Supremacists," _he thought.

"Friends," Draco said, "and we've known each other forever. Then there's Blaise, haven't seen him since he moved to Italy."

"Oh, I've always wanted to see Rome, and Venice," Mary said, "have you been?"

"Of course," Draco replied.

Mary nodded, focusing on her food for a moment.

"What about Theo, do you think we could meet him, maybe over Christmas?" she asked.

"I don't know," Draco replied, "I'll ask him."

"_Liar,_" Draco thought.

"Oh, what about your mother?" Mary asked.

"_Mother might actually kill the child, and you as collateral damage, possibly immediately before or after she kills me,_" Draco thought.

The more the conversation went on, the more Draco forced himself to lie about the potential future they would have together, the more he was convinced he absolutely had to end this pregnancy as soon as possible. He left half his meal unfinished as thoughts of what he'd planned to do later in the evening spurred his heart to pump faster, adrenaline rocketing through his veins, enough his hands wanted to start shaking. After dinner, they returned to the apartment and went to bed like they usually did. Although Draco didn't take much pleasure from the sex, consumed as he was with what he was about to do, he forced his body through the motions until he finished. Afterwards, Draco did another line to keep himself up while Mary watched with guarded jealousy in her eyes. He almost thought she was about to ask him for some, but she held him tightly and drifted off to sleep instead. Draco waited a good forty minutes before extricating himself from her, and crept to his coat. In the dark of the bedroom, he stood barefoot on the cold wooden floor, completely nude except for the wand in his hand, pointed towards Mary's sleeping form.

"_Should I stun her first?_" he thought, then decided against it.

He stood there, wand outstretched, at first pondering whether he really wanted to go through with it, then trying to will himself to end the life growing within her.

"_My blood, my son or daughter_," Draco thought, the unwelcome notion making it all the harder to cast.

Every logical cell in his body told him he was better off casting the miscarriage spell immediately, but just like in the Astronomy Tower during the Battle, he found himself lowering his wand to his side. His shoulders slumped as he recalled overhearing Darren's harsh assessment of him, and found himself mostly agreeing with the drug dealer's instincts. He could always vanish in March. The problem was too many people knew about him and Mary. He couldn't obliviate everyone, and sooner or later there would be a little half-blood running around. At most he would have eleven years until a letter arrived, exposing Mary to the wizarding world, and she would certainly remember being impregnated by a Drake Malfoy who then vanished into thin air, leaving her to raise his child alone.

"_Merlin, I am so unbelievably screwed,_" he thought.

He tucked the wand into his coat pocket and slipped back into bed, deciding to wait a few more days to decide what to do...


	16. Chapter 16

Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Chapter 16

Harry's heart pounded furiously as he forced his legs to walk casually despite wanting to break into a full-on sprint.

"_Don't screw this up, or it's another three months of training, minimum,_" Harry thought as he deliberately faced away from the very average looking wizard across the street.

The night before, Harry sat with the other trainees as Mackenzie briefed them on upcoming Trial. They were to stake out a bin for someone picking up a parcel from it, shadow them without being detected, identify their hideout, and make an arrest, all without breaking protocol or incurring any bystander injuries or significant property damage. Their target, a middle-aged wizard wearing black robes and wizarding hat, had just picked up the parcel from the garbage bin. He strolled along Diagon Alley's main thoroughfare, every now and then glancing around at the crowds or at the display windows. It was full on holiday shopping season and Harry was definitely glamoured and not disillusioned; he couldn't tail the mark invisibly without innocent passerby walking into him. On the plus side, it made blending into the crowd that much easier. Ron, also glamoured, followed the target from about thirty feet back. Somewhere above them both, a disillusioned Matt Wilson, the best flyer aside from Harry, hovered astride one of the Comets. They followed the mark for a good ten minutes until he slipped into an abandoned and ruined shophouse near the entrance to Knockturn Alley. Far fewer people walked the streets here, most of them hurrying past the entrance of the seedy district.

Apparition and portkeys made capturing wizards extremely difficult, especially as Aurors were usually required to identify themselves and give the targets the option of surrendering. The plan was for Matt to inform the other three who were standing by where to set up anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards around the hideout. Ron stopped at the corner before the shophouse and Harry crossed the road at the next street. He waited at the corner for a minute to give the others enough time to get into place, then started walking towards the shopfront. Harry's steps slowed as he approached the door and he met Ron at the entrance.

"_I__nvenies felis_," Harry muttered, using his wrist to surreptitiously wave his wand from side to side. Any spells trapping the door would glow blue, but nothing showed.

"Wards are up, let's go," a whisper came from over Harry's shoulder. Shawn, disillusioned.

Harry looked over to Ron's glamoured face and nodded. He edged up to the door and tried the handle. Unlocked.

Slowly, he kept the handle down and nudged the wooden door open into the building. A crash of pots and pans greeted him; they'd been stacked up on the inside.

"_Bollocks! It's a bloody alarm,_" Harry thought, shouldering through the door and scattering cookware across the floor.

"Aurors, throw down your wand!" he shouted, Ron right on his heels.

Black marks covered an entire wall of the shop, evidence of a fire a long time ago. Candles used to sit against that wall, but now only a giant, distorted and long congealed mess of wax lay against it, colours bled together and puddled on the floor. Footsteps echoed from the back, and Harry charged ahead. A narrow wooden staircase led up to the second story, and Harry took them two at a time.

"Halt!" he shouted.

"_That's the second warning_," he thought.

A red bolt narrowly missed him as he ducked through the door at the top of the steps, and he returned with a stunner of his own, letting his glamour drop to give more strength to his spells. A leg locking jinx followed from the black robed wizard, and Harry dodged to one side, but with a crack of rotting wood, the floor gave way and he fell straight down, back into the shop below. He caught a glimpse of Elizabeth's surprised blue eyes as he flashed by her, crashing painfully into the ground floor, which also gave way. Her wand flashed out and he felt himself caught in mid-air before he landed in the cellar.

"Boost me up, back through the hole!" Harry said, and with a wave, the muggleborn Auror trainee launched him back up to the second story. Harry landed and took a step to steady himself, then followed the sound of Ron cursing, to the end of the hallway and into what used to be a bedroom. A sheet of roiling purple flames covered a window, and Ron, also back to looking like himself, stood in front of it, attempting to bring them down.

"Together," Harry said, leading with his wand "_finite!_"

Under the combined power of both Ron and Harry's wands, the flames sputtered and died out, revealing a rear fire escape. First out the window onto the metal platform, Harry didn't spot their quarry anywhere.

"_Appare Vestigium_," Harry said with a swirl of his wand. Golden flecks spread across the rooftops and the alley, illuminating the target's footsteps sprinting ahead on the ground level.

Harry took a step to the side to allow Ron to jump down, and the redhead used a cushioning charm to break his fall before charging after the dark robed wizard.

"_Expecto Patronum,_" Harry said, "tell Matt he's out the east exit and headed towards Knockturn, cut him off."

The glowing stag vanished into the sky as Tammy also stepped out onto the fire escape, holding the backpack the target had been carrying.

"Goods are still in here," she said, slinging the pack over her shoulder.

As they steadied themselves to jump down after Ron, a series of red stunners shot out from the window across the alley, forcing Harry to shield to protect them. He tried to reverse a few of them back at the attacker, but they were too fast and it was all he could do to keep both himself and Tammy from being hit as hexes and jinxes pinged and ricocheted off the building and fire escape. Fortunately, they were close enough Tammy managed to transfigure the window in front of their assailant into a brick wall, but the wizard behind simply blasted through it, sending rock shrapnel towards them. Again quick with her wand, Tammy put up a bubble in front of them that transformed the fragments headed towards them into feathers as they passed through. Harry heard Matt whoosh by overhead, coming over the roof to quickly gain on Ron and the target.

"_Revelio,_" Harry heard the wizard across the street say. The spell cancelled Matt's disillusion in a dark spray, and white light streaked towards the appearing Auror trainee from the open window.

"_Fully body bind_," Harry thought, "_that'll cause him to crash for sure._"

"Matt, dodge!" he shouted even as he ducked and parried the renewed barrage of spells from the wizard across the street.

Instinctively, the big man spun into a quidditch sloth grip roll, letting the curse fly through the air where he'd been before righting himself and continuing the chase. Harry's mind raced for a way to try and take out their assailant without damaging any of the buildings.

"_Stupefy!_" he heard Shawn say just as Harry parried another pair of stunners. The room lit up with a red glow for an instant, illuminating both Shawn's rapidly appearing form and the attacking wizard falling down at his feet. Somehow, the pureblood snuck over undetected and took down their attacker.

"Liz and I got this one," Shawn said loudly, looking out the window at Harry and Tammy, "go get the target."

Harry and Tammy wasted no time and jumped down off the fire escape, both of them cushioning their landing. The training paid off as Harry pounded full tilt down the street, easily keeping pace with the athletic blonde next to him. He rounded a corner to see a furious duel in progress, multicoloured sparks of spellfire zinging around the alley. Matt had managed to land in front of the target, and beyond Matt, Harry spied the small stone marking the edge of the anti-apparition ward. As Harry closed the distance, the opposing wizard set off a bright flash to dazzle Ron for a second, then spun and transfigured the ground around Matt's feet to mud, dodged a poorly aimed stunner from Ron, and flicked his wand again. Matt grunted in pain as the mud around his feet solidified back to stone, immobilizing him.

The wizard zigzagged for the wardstone, but Harry was faster. Instead of trying to hit the moving target, he snapped the tip of his wand upwards without breaking stride and pulled up a bank of cobblestoned street in front of the wizard, who stumbled and slammed his knee into the ground. Ron, blinking his eyes to bring his sight back, joined Harry and the two of them worked in tandem. Ron went high while Harry went low and vice versa, giving the wizard nowhere to dodge, forcing him to shield to prevent from being hit. Now he was closer, Harry could see their target was clean shaven, with slicked black hair; he appeared much younger than before.

"_Must have dropped the glamour to fight_," Harry thought. Harry skipped to the right while Ron went left, and the duo put themselves between the wizard and the edge of the wards while Tammy got Matt out of the transfigured ground.

Now four against one and facing two on each side, the target threw his wand down.

"I surrender," he said, putting his hands in the air.

"_Incarcerous, stupefy,_" Harry said, taking no chances with the results of the trial on the line.

Matt picked up the anti-apparition wardstone and deposited it into his robes, then retrieved his broom, dropped to the side of the alley when he dismounted to start casting. The four trainees and levitated target returned to the rear of the abandoned store to find Elizabeth watching over the bound and unconscious wizard Shawn downed earlier.

"Where's Shawn?" Harry asked.

"Disillusioned," Elizabeth replied, "or transfigured, I'm not really sure actually."

Harry nodded. Shawn was being appropriately paranoid for once and figured he would get the drop on anyone who tried to ambush them. Harry only looked at the others staring at him for a split-second before he started rattling off orders.

"Tammy, Liz, go retrieve the other ward stones and meet back here. Ron, go with Tammy. Matt, you're with Liz. Shawn and I will stay here with the prisoners," he said, "Matt, pass me the Comet, just in case."

The trainees broke into action, and Harry kept hold of the broom in one hand. Luckily, he didn't need it. Only a minute or two later the trainees returned, jogging to make it back quicker.

"Shawn you here?" Harry asked, "we're going to apparate back to the training grounds."

"Right behind you," Shawn whispered, making Harry jump. Elizabeth rolled her eyes and Harry found himself agreeing with her.

"Right, grab the prisoners," Harry said, ignoring Shawn's antics, "three…two…one.."

With a series of pops and cracks, the trainees apparated to the centre of the field at Auror Training Ground C where Mackenzie stood up immediately.

"You brought the satchel?" the tall trainer asked as he vanished the blue velvet chaise lounge he'd conjured to sit upon while waiting for their return.

Tammy held up the confiscated backpack and gave it a shake.

Mackenzie smiled and looked over the two unconscious and bound wizards, then breathed a sigh of relief.

Another pop ended the conversation as Robards appeared in the field.

"Captain," Mackenzie said, saluting. Harry and the rest of the trainees stood up straight and quickly followed suit.

"Lieutenant," Robards said, wordlessy _rennervating_ the two unconscious Aurors and dispelling the cords binding them.

The two stood up slowly, probably stiff from being bound up.

"You have their wands?" Robards asked. Shawn produced one and Ron the other, returning them to their rightful owners.

"Jenkins, Robinson, debrief will follow, dismissed," Robards said, and the two saluted and apparated out.

"The rest of you, the results of your trial will be deliberated and you'll be called in for debrief within a week," Robards said, "anything you do between now and then can affect the panel's judgement so I suggest you lay low until the results are complete and announced."

The large Auror captain gave Harry one last glance, then saluted and apparated out.

A moment of silence passed until Tammy broke the silence.

"Sooo," she said, "how do you think we did?"

"Are you joking?" Shawn replied, "we passed with flying colours. Two targets arrested, minimal damage, drop recovered, no casualties, couldn't have gone any better."

Conversation exploded from there as the trainees recapped the trial to each other, filling in those who weren't present for the chase or duel in the alley on what happened and rehashing the events while Mackenzie quietly listened in.

"I tried to run him down while on the broom but he ducked," Matt said.

"How did you get back up so fast after you fell through the floor?" Ron asked.

"You fell through a floor?" Matt asked.

"Two, actually," Harry said, "luckily Liz caught me. Great throw by the way, putting me back up through the hole."

"Right place, right time," Elizabeth said, choosing humility over bravado.

"Speaking of right place right time, did you like how I took out Robinson across the street?" Shaun chimed in, "I had no idea it was him."

"That was who tried to knock me off my broom?" Matt asked.

Tammy nodded in reply.

"That was brilliant," Harry said, pointing at Shawn, "I didn't even see you sneak over."

"You know what else would be brilliant? Alcohol," Matt said.

"_That sounds like a __**fantastic**__ idea,_" Harry thought.

"Second, all in favour?" Harry asked.

"Aye!" came the chorus of response.

"O'Malley's is always a good time, north side of Diagon," Shaun said, drawing his wand and turning to Mackenzie, "coming sir?"

The trainer appeared to internally debate for a moment before shaking his head.

"No, Davis, I don't think so. You lot enjoy yourselves, you've earned it," he replied.

"Yes sir, with pleasure," Shaun said, making an exaggerated salute and immediately apparating out.

Ron smirked and followed suit, along with the others, until only Harry remained.

"Potter?" the trainer asked.

"Thank you sir, for everything," he said, "we wouldn't have made it without your training."

Mackenzie looked down at Harry gave a half snort, half chuckle.

"I would say the stars have to align for anyone to make it through trials in just four months, but you and Weasley pulled it off," he replied, "most of the credit is yours. I only gave you a little push."

"Or a few stinging hexes to the backside," Harry added.

Mackenzie nodded.

"Go on, your team's waiting for you," Mackenzie said, then he turned and apparated away before Harry could protest that they weren't 'his' team, that they all had their strengths and none of them could have succeeded alone.

Harry apparated to Diagon Alley, across the street from O'Malley's Irish pub. The enchanted sign out front repeatedly showed a glowing leprechaun downing a mug of beer, then drop kicking a gnome over a fence. Harry pushed his way through the door to find the bar mostly empty except for a large booth where the rest of the team were already in the process of distributing pints.

"Harry!" the cry went up from the table as he made his way over. They'd left him a seat, next to Liz and across from Shawn. Tammy sat next to Ron, Harry noted, then quickly squashed the thought before it went any further.

"_Ron's my best friend, and I'm going to trust him_," he thought, "_at least_ _until I actually see him do something stupid, then he'll get a well-deserved talking to, but not a second before._"

The alcohol flowed freely, and Harry felt a genuine smile spread across his face as they chatted. He kept an eye on Ron and Tammy, noting that she seemed focused on Ron, but Ron, perhaps more aware of appearances after their chat outside the club, made time for everyone.

"You should have seen her Wilson, turned them into feathers, made it look as easy as a lumos," Harry said, "I only ever saw Dumbledore do something like that, when he duelled Voldemort at the Ministry."

Tammy had gone red in the face at the praise but the others all fell silent. In the back of his mind Harry realized he was talking about things he didn't usually speak of, but right now, with events finally moving in the right direction, it was cathartic.

"_After all, we're a team, and we're going to be hunting down and battling dark wizards together_," Harry thought, "_if I can't share a few things like this with them, who can I share them with?_"

Harry trailed off as he recalled what else had transpired that night in the Ministry….Sirius falling backwards through the Veil…

"_If I knew even half of what I know now, I could have saved him. I could have helped Dumbledore, maybe even stopped Tom right then and there,_" he thought, "_I could have taken out Lestrange while she was pinned._ _Tonks would still be alive, and Dobby._"

"The Death Eaters aren't going to know what hit them," Shaun said, snapping Harry out of his reverie, "we've got the best team, right here, I wouldn't be surprised if we all make lieutenant within a year."

Harry saw Ron nodding his head, and as he thought about it, they really did have a strong team. All of them were accomplished witches or wizards in their own right, and everyone had their specialities. Shawn was a bit of a wild card but his talent was undeniable.

"Could we just enjoy passing the trials for one night without thinking about what we're going to have to do to get promoted?" Liz asked, "honestly Davis, I would have expected that from Wilson, not you of all people."

"Hey," Matt said.

"No offense Matt, you're the best," Liz said, patting Matt's massive bicep.

A blast of cold air hit him as the front door opened, and Harry noticed everyone else staring over his shoulder. He craned his neck around to see Head Auror John Dawlish walking towards them. Harry scrambled to his feet, as did the others.

"At ease," Dawlish said, "I heard you recovered the package and made an arrest during the trial today, congratulations, all of you."

The team murmured their thank you's.

"Potter, Minister Shacklebolt wants to see you eight-thirty tomorrow morning, he didn't say why," Dawlish said, "the rest of you, enjoy your evening."

They sat in silence as Dawlish exited the pub without another word.

"Told you, lieutenant, less than a year," Davis said quietly, lifting his mug and taking another swig.

"What do you think the Minister wants?" Tammy asked.

"No idea," Harry said, passing his beer across the table to Ron, "hope it's not too serious."

"_Please, let it be not too serious_," Harry thought.

"I'm sure it's fine," Elizabeth said, "the Head Auror only dropped by to personally deliver the message, it's probably no big deal."

She rolled her eyes and took another long drink.

"Honestly though, good luck Harry," she added.

"Yeah," Harry said, frowning.

"Look at it this way mate, if it was really serious, he would have sent a patronus, and they would have told all of us to come right away," Ron said.

Harry nodded.

"_As usual, Ron cut right through the fog and hit the bludger square_," Harry thought.

"I guess that's it for me tonight then," Harry said, standing up, "got to be fresh for tomorrow."

"Alright Potter, we'll let you off easy this time, but now you owe us a night of revelry, don't think you can weasel your way out of it," Shawn said, "no offense Ron."

Ron tapped his glass against Shawn's.

Harry smiled.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, "how about after the trial debrief?"

Shawn merely raised his glass in response.

* * *

The following morning saw Harry in the waiting room outside Kingsley's office. Not knowing what he was getting into, he came prepared: invisibility cloak in one pocket of his Auror trainee robes, wand nestled snug in the holster at his left wrist, moleskin pouch in another pocket. At eight thirty sharp, the receptionist, a severe looking and greying middle-aged witch with reading glasses hanging around her neck called his name, looked him over, and went back to scanning the interdepartmental memo in front of her.

"_For once, someone doesn't care at all I'm 'The Chosen One'_," Harry thought.

He pushed through the heavy oak door to find Kingsley, wearing robes of various shades of blue, already seated at his desk. A hearth set in the back corner of the room blazed merrily; an emergency floo portal. Rich, heavy red and brown carpeting covered the floor, deadening sounds in the room and giving it an air of privacy. Awards and certifications adorned the wall behind the desk, lending power and legitimacy to the Minister of Magic. It took Harry a second or two to recognize the man seated in front of Kingsley as his back was to him. Percy Weasley, now sporting a thin moustache, stood and turned, giving Harry a single nod as they made eye contact.

"Percy," Harry said, a bit shocked as he closed the door and turned to Kingsley, "Good morning Minister, Percy. What's going on?"

Percy extended his hand as Harry approached, and Harry shook it firmly before they both sat down.

"Straight to the point then," Kingsley said, "Mr. Weasley is here in his capacity as acting Head of International Cooperation and interim central point of contact with the Goblin Liason Office, until a suitable replacement can be found. You're here because after the trials yesterday, Head Auror Dawlish informed me it's likely you'll be accepted as a full Auror, and that creates a bit of a problem."

"Err, what sort of problem?" Harry asked.

"A goblin problem," Percy replied.

Kingsley grimaced.

"You're aware the goblins have been pressing for your punishment for the break-in at Gringotts earlier this year," Kingsley said, "they have accepted our stalling as we sorted our more important issues and focused on rebuilding, but Mr. Weasley believes, and I concur, that if the Ministry employs you and Ronald as Aurors, they will escalate."

Kingsley folded his hands on the desk in front of him.

"No offense, I was hoping you'd stuff up the trials," Percy said with a frown, "should have known better."

"But… Don't get me wrong Minister, I appreciate the Ministry stepping in and trying to work out a solution with the goblins on our behalf, but I don't understand. Voldemort would have killed them all, or enslaved them," Harry said.

"Many of the goblins don't see it that way," Kingsley said, "the peace between our races is a delicate balance. There are factions within the goblin population who have been urging a more aggressive stance for over a decade, and those factions are now demanding they strike back in retaliation both for your break-in and Voldemort's attack. On our side, you're well aware of the wizarding distaste for goblins; the vast majority of wizards only interact with goblins because they have to."

Harry thought about it for a moment, and aside from Griphook, he didn't even know any other goblins' names, much less anything about them.

"_I suppose there's some truth to that,_" he thought, and resolved to do better going forward.

"I still don't understand; we _destroyed_ Voldemort, shouldn't they be thanking us?" Harry asked.

Kingsley shook his head.

"The hardliners are demanding a strike against Wizarding Britain," Kingsley replied, his tone patient, "Voldemort was a wizard, so they seek restitution against wizards. Goblins have a tendency to treat all wizards as cut from the same cloth. Most goblins. Some of them are seeking a declaration of independence, and reformation of the goblin nation."

"They don't have anyone else to blame, really," Percy added, "and King Ragnar can't do _nothing_, it would appear weak."

"Until now, King Ragnar IV has pushed for punishment, but if it looks as if we're going to ignore their requests, he may have no choice but to cede to the hardliners, and would be looking at, potentially, another goblin rebellion," Kingsley said.

Harry ran his hand down over his mouth and chin in consternation.

"And employing Ron and I and giving us authority to arrest people counts," Harry said, absently drumming his fingers on the armrest.

"Exactly," Kingsley said, "so you see the issue. You've passed the trials, and I'm sure you know we're shorthanded when it comes to law enforcement. Add to that you've got more experience battling dark wizards than half the force, so we'd be hard pressed to turn you down. At the same time, a goblin rebellion would mean more war."

"Nobody wants that and the goblin hardliners know it; they're trying to take advantage to draw out concessions," Percy added.

Harry sighed and brought his fingers to his temples, attempting to pre-emptively massage away a burgeoning headache.

"Alright, what do they want? And why only call me?" Harry asked, "surely they're after Ron and Hermione as well."

"They are, but you're the only one in a position to do anything about it," Kingsley said.

Two or three questions collided in Harry's head as his eyebrows drew together in confusion.

"The goblins are demanding just over one hundred million galleons in damages," Percy said.

Harry's eyes widened; he didn't think there was that much money in all of Britain.

"They cited numerous infractions and justifications for the sum," Percy continued, "among them: restitution for injured or slain goblins, repayment for the replacement and training of the stolen dragon, repair to the physical structures of the bank and the damaged enchantments, some of which can no longer be replicated, and damages for the lost and future business due to the injury to Gringotts' reputation."

"Alternatively, they would accept a tenth of the sum if it came from the Golden Trio themselves, along with a sincere and public admission of guilt and apology to the goblin nation," Percy said.

Harry slowly nodded with dawning comprehension. Neither Ron nor Hermione had that kind of money. Only Harry, with the massive stack of galleons inherited from both his father and Sirius, and which currently resided in several vaults at Gringotts, could step in and pay off the debt the goblins demanded.

"And if we decline?" Harry asked.

"The goblins will press their claim for you to be punished under wizarding law, as stipulated in the Treaty of Hogsmeade, a minimum two-year sentence in Azkaban," Kingsley replied, "if we don't, they'll take their case before the ICW court of arbitration."

"They'll most likely win," Percy said, "the new Supreme Mugwump has it out for Britain."

"We _have_ made a mess of the Statute lately, but that's neither here nor there," Kingsley said, "the law is on their side. If it goes to ICW arbitration and we lose, we'd have to abide the results and submit to inspection that we're following our own laws, or risk voting rights suspension."

"Minister," Percy said, "what if we provided Harry with a role in the Ministry and paid-"

"No, Mr. Weasley," Kingsley said, cutting him off with a stern glance, "we've discussed this already."

Percy shrank slightly in his seat at the admonishment.

"I'm sorry Harry, I spent the past six months looking for a loophole, any loophole to make you whole," Percy said.

"You wanted to try and reimburse the gold out of the Ministry budget?" Harry asked.

Percy nodded, a defeated frown on his face.

"It's not possible for several reasons," Kingsley said, counting off on his fingers, "first, there's no mechanism for payment on this scale to private citizens. Second, once word spreads the Ministry used taxpayer funds to pay off such a massive fine, it would be a public relations nightmare for everyone involved, especially with so many others in need. Last, and most important, when the goblins find out, they'll cry foul and at the very least demand the full sum, or possibly try to confiscate it themselves out of the citizens' vaults or do something else in an attempt to provoke a response, and we'll be in a worse position than we are now."

Harry nodded. He couldn't in good conscience take that much money from the government when others desperately needed it, anyway. If he'd actually been able to step foot in the bank and withdraw the money to donate, he would have.

For a brief moment, he thought about walking away from being an Auror and going after the Death Eaters on his own. That idea sputtered very quickly as he didn't have the first clue of how he would start going about finding someone who didn't want to be found, at least not without a whole lot of galleons, which led him right back to this particular conundrum. Harry's thoughts turned to his teammates, Shawn and Elizabeth and Tammy and Matt. No doubt the DMLE would cobble together a full team to replace him and Ron, but it wouldn't be the same as working with the team they'd trained with. Plus, he and Ron were two of the better duelists.

"_What if I abandon them and some or all of them end up killed?_" he thought, "_I'll spend the rest of my life wondering if I could have made a difference._"

He shook his head. Abandoning his Auror position wasn't possible; he'd have to make peace with the goblins.

"_What would Ron and Hermione say?_" Harry thought, "_they'd probably swear to repay every knut, but there's no way I could let them do that; it would take years, decades, if they could even amass that much gold in a lifetime. Would they feel guilty? Do they even need to know?"_

Percy'd been on the job for six months. If there was any other way out of this conundrum, Harry had no doubt the studious and exacting Weasley would have found it.

"_It's not like I have access to any of the money at all right now_," Harry thought.

"I have a few demands," Harry said, "I'm not paying for them to keep another dragon underground like the last one. They can use the money to buy alternative protective enchantments or something. Also, anything not coins stays in my possession. And I want an audience with King Ragnar."

"Also…" Harry added, taking a deep breath.

"_Forgive me guys,_" he thought.

"Ron and Hermione aren't to know about the money," he said.

There was a moment of shocked silence.

"Just like that?" Percy asked.

Harry turned to look at Percy dead in the eye.

"You've been at this for six months, right?" Harry asked.

Percy nodded.

"And there's no other way?" Harry asked.

Percy shook his head slowly.

"Not that I could find," he replied.

"Then that's it then," Harry said, "there's more than enough gold left to keep me comfortable for the rest of my life, and really, it wasn't mine to begin with."

Kingsley stood up, prompting both Percy and Harry to do the same.

"Mr. Weasley, relay Mr. Potter's request to the Goblin Liaison Office," Kingsley said.

Percy nodded.

"Thank you Harry, again," Percy said, "I'm confident they'll accept your terms."

"Good luck Percy," Harry said. They shook hands and Percy strode quickly out of the office.

"Harry, I don't know how many times I can keep saying this, but thank you, for everything you've done and continue to do," Kingsley said.

"It wasn't really much of a choice, Minister," Harry said, "I _am_ interested to find out what Ragnar IV has to say; I didn't even know the goblins had a king."

"That's Binns for you," Kingsley said with a small grimace, "Ragnar's is not a title recognized by the Wizengamot, but it matters a great deal to the goblins. He's descended from the last goblin king, and if they were to successfully break off and form their own nation, he'd probably be its head of state."

"Alright," Harry said. His lack of knowledge or experience in geopolitical matters was going to be a problem, eventually. At some point he would be expected to do something with his fame and influence, but he had no clear idea on what that might be or how to avoid being taken advantage of.

"_First things first,_" he thought, "_Death Eaters._"

"Thank you for helping us clean up this mess," Kingsley said, "we'll be in touch about the audience with Ragnar. Why not go and enjoy the rest of the break before your shifts start?"

Harry nodded, recognizing the dismissal for what it was.

"Let's get the rest of the Death Eaters behind bars, then I'll feel like I can relax a bit," Harry said.

The Minister nodded.

"Good luck, Harry," Kingsley said, shaking Harry's hand.

"_Like an equal,_" Harry thought.

* * *

Harry twisted and shifted the wine bottle in his hands as he followed Ron up the path to the Burrow. Ginny's gift lay in his pocket, and the rest sat inside his moleskin pouch. A light dusting of snow covered the ground, making it slick and showing where others had walked before them. Dark and dreary outside, as soon as Ron pushed the door open, warm light spilled out and chorus of cheers greeted them.

"Ron! Harry!"

Chairs originally set around the dining table sat occupied around the living room and near the hearth; for the first time in nearly a year, the Burrow was filled to bursting. A decorated Christmas tree with enchanted candles and sparkling lights sat opposite the couch, near the fireplace. Colourfully wrapped gifts already filled the floor up to the bottom branches, much more than had been present in years past. Molly pulled Harry into a hug until Ginny, practically bounding across the room, all but pushed her mother out of the way and embraced him tightly. Harry passed the bottle to Molly behind Ginny's back, even as he became acutely aware of his girlfriend's breasts pressed into his chest.

"I love you Harry," Ginny whispered in his ear, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

Harry smiled into her hair and extracted himself before it became embarrassing, then pulled out the small box containing one of the enchanted matching mood rings he'd only just purchased.

"Happy Christmas," he said, passing it over to her.

She smiled and placed it beneath the tree, then looked around a bit, eventually picking up his gift, a flat rectangular package in bright red wrappings.

"Happy Christmas," she echoed. Harry hefted the parcel and resisted the temptation to immediately tear it open. He stowed it in his enchanted pouch then made the rounds, shaking hands with Arthur and Bill; the angry red scars on Bill's face had faded into a series of long, pale gashes. Fleur, her golden hair done up in braids and set about her head, gave him the French greeting, a light kiss on each cheek. Charlie, fresh in from Romania, shook his hand, as did Percy, whom he'd seen only a few days prior.

"This is Penelope Clearwater," Percy said, "if you'll recall from Hogwarts."

"Of course," Harry said, patting her back lightly with one hand as the blonde stepped in for a brief hug.

"Happy Christmas Harry," she said, "I heard you scored well on your Auror trials, congratulations."

"Ah, well, the official results aren't out yet so…" Harry replied.

"Even so, they're saying it's unprecedented for anyone to pass them so quickly," she said, "so, congratulations. You too, Ron."

"Thanks," Harry said, smiling.

"_No pressure_," he thought.

He moved on to the next redhead, only to stop short when he looked into George's gaunt, expressionless face, the surviving twin looking for all the world like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Potter," he said as Harry shook his hand.

"George," Harry replied, internally shedding a tear at the use of his surname as a greeting.

Then he was done with the hellos. A glass of wine appeared in his hand and he joined the conversation as the Weasley clan caught up with Bill and Charlie. Ginny made herself comfortable by Harry's side at first, but then drifted over to chat with Bill, while Fleur spoke with Percy and Penelope.

"It's only temporary, but I fully intend to do the best job that I can for as long as the position is mine," he heard Percy say, a bit of his old pompousness coming through.

Ron recounted the Auror trials for Charlie and Arthur, and Harry filled in the blanks for the parts Ron wasn't present for. The conversation flowed into dinner, roast turkey with gravy, roast and mashed potatoes, carrots, Brussel sprouts, cauliflower, cranberry sauce, and more stuffing than they could possibly eat. All the right words were said, but it was just a little bit off. Smiles were a bit too exaggerated, drink flowed a bit too freely, and every now and then Harry would catch someone staring off into space before they remembered themselves and came back to the present. The first Christmas without Fred. Ginny's hand found its way into his. He didn't need to look at her to know she felt it too, but he did anyway. A faraway and wistful gaze greeted him back, cheeks rosy from wine and lips turned down ever so slightly, not quite a frown.

"_How is it possible for someone to look sad and happy at the same time?_" he wondered.

"_Love you,_" she mouthed.

"_Love you too,_" he mouthed back, and she smiled. Not sad anymore.

He glanced around the table, every mouth occupied either by semi-forced conversation or with chewing bites taken to avoid having to speak. All except George who sat quietly at one corner of the table having barely touched his food. The surviving Weasley twin stared down at his plate and tapped his fingertips on the heavy wood surface.

Molly floated dessert out of the kitchen, Yorkshire pudding, chocolates, ice cream, treacle tarts, rum raisin and chocolate cake.

"_She must have been cooking all day,_" Harry thought as a platter of dark brown chocolate rum cake set itself in front of him.

Then, without warning, the table started levitating up with a low hissing sound. Harry scooted back as the entire thing slowly rose up into the air. Ron managed to snag a slice of cake before he did the same. The source of the hissing quickly became apparent as the table rose higher; numerous colourful balloons attached to the bottom of the table grew steadily larger as they inflated, lifting it up into the air.

"Mum?" Charlie asked.

"George?" Molly asked, but when Harry looked to the corner of the table, George had vanished.

"They'll ruin the dessert!" Molly said, aiming her wand at the table and drawing it down to keep it from hitting the ceiling.

Harry stood up, as did Ron, both of them drawing their wands in one smooth motion. Harry's chair rose up behind him as he stood though, also borne up by colourful balloons, and as the others stood, he noticed their chairs also rising.

Harry sent a stinging hex at one of the balloons under the table, and it popped with an echoing flatulent noise, much louder than anything a human could possibly emit. Out fell a bit of glitter and small pink furry creature, a Pygmy Puff, which bounced twice on the ground before it righted itself and started to wander aimlessly, making cute little cooing sounds.

"Mon dieu, it reeks," Fleur said, holding her nose just as the smell, a combination of rotten eggs and manure, hit Harry's nostrils and he instinctively recoiled.

Ron popped a balloon as well, but instead of a farting noise, a woman's voice emitted an extremely erotic moan, prompting a scandalized look from several, including Percy and Penelope. More glitter fell out, along with an eight-inch tall naked creature resembling a gnome, with its elderly features and wrinkled skin.

"Give me sugar!" it shrieked in a high-pitched voice as it started darting around the room, dangly parts swinging with wild abandon.

The stinging hexes stopped, but the balloons kept inflating, eventually popping on their own and filling the room with echoing flatulence and whore-like moaning of varying pitch and volume. New balloons appeared and started inflating to replace the popped, and glitter swirled as Mrs. Weasley desperately tried to salvage the desserts. More and more creatures dropped from the balloons; Harry recognized Cornish pixies flying about as one picked up a pigmy puff and beaned it at Percy, pegging him in the jaw with the soft, furry creature. The other pixies quickly caught on, and soon little fuzzballs zinged back and forth with cute little screams of terror while the pixies themselves deftly positioned themselves in front of people, making it difficult to hit them with a spell. Harry looked down to see a naked gnome latched onto his leg, alternating between humping it and trying to bite him. Also, his shoe had vanished, or at least turned invisible, as he still felt it around his foot. Kicking the little gnome away to where it started chasing Arthur around the floating table, Harry fell back on his training and tried to assess the situation. Clothing vanished faster than a snowball in July; already he could see one of Penelope's exposed breasts, though she hadn't appeared to notice yet, occupied as she was with an animated paper origami niffler crawling through her hair and attempting to make off with her necklace.

"The-" Hary started, but his voice came out at least two octaves too high and he reflexively stopped and coughed.

"The glitter makes your clothing invisible," Ron said in a comically high-pitched voice, even higher than Ginny's.

What little semblance of an organized response evaporated in an outcry of '_finite_'s, which had little effect except to cause the balloons to duplicate themselves.

"Ugh, it's a modified Gemino Curse," Bill said, his voice also abnormally high, "don't finite the balloons!"

Percy and his rapidly diminishing visible clothing leapt in front of Penelope to serve as a human shield and Fleur attempted to retreat into the kitchen only to find the door locked, prompting her to unleash a most colourful series of French expletives as she attempted to transfigure a shawl to cover herself, only for it to turn invisible as well.

"The desserts, the desserts!" Molly said, as she tried to keep the table from hitting the ceiling, her voice coming out like a squeak.

"Nooooo!" she said as the table gently bumped the ceiling.

"GEORGE!" Arthur bellowed. Tried to bellow. Instead it came out like an animated chipmunk character Harry'd seen when he was younger, and it was impossible to take him seriously with a small elderly looking gnome frantically grinding against his calf.

As freckled skin increasingly overtook cloth, there was no help at all for Mrs. Weasley wrestling with the levitating table as everyone who wasn't covering their privates or shielding his girlfriend or wife occupied himself with incinerating small origami beasts or banishing pixies, all set to an increasingly lewd background track as the moans climbed to a feverish pitch and intensity, clearly building towards a climax. Somehow, the flatulence now magnificently matched the moans in cadence and rhythm, forming a ludicrous duet. Harry thought he might have heard quiet wet gushing sounds as well, and a small part of his brain wondered if it was from the erotic balloons or the flatulent ones.

"_Perhaps both_," he thought.

His searching eyes found Ginny, who didn't seem to care one bit that her clothing had all but vanished, and who wore a wide, beaming grin as she banished a pixie against the wall, where it fell to the ground, stunned. Harry sidestepped a gnome to get to her, mentally vanquished the insistent thought of grabbing her and disappearing upstairs to shag her wild, and summoned the invisibility cloak out of his pouch with a whispered word as he ducked a pigmy puff.

"Ginny," he said, getting her attention, then he threw the cloak over her. Whatever magic caused their clothing to become invisible didn't penetrate the Hallow, and Ginny vanished except for a disconcerting disembodied head.

"Thanks Harry," she said.

Harry paused for a second, then twirled his wand around himself, nodding with satisfaction as he vanished from sight. The others soon followed suit, but that made it almost impossible to not hit one another with spells, so they found themselves at a bit of an impasse.

At last, with a joint grand finale and a long, drawn out orgasmic keen, the last balloons popped, and the table and chairs dropped to the ground. Several of the chairs crashed down, but the table managed a soft landing, just barely caught by several wands. Harry heard a few sighs of relief, but the naked gnomes, now numbering at least twenty and with such a bounty of sugar within reach, swarmed the table, clambering up onto chairs and launching themselves through the air to land amid the pudding and cakes. Within seconds they started gorging themselves, taking huge gulping mouthfuls and flinging food at each other and anyone standing nearby. Harry deflected a small handful of pudding and pondered how best to round up the gnomes without destroying the table, when, to his horror, the little creatures started having _sex _with each other, _on the table._

"Oh Merlin," he heard someone, he thought it was Ron, squeak in disgust.

"Stop them, they're going to multiply!" Molly shrieked.

"_Aguamenti_," Ron and Ginny said, scouring the entire table and washing away the frantically fornicating gnomes and the remnants of the dessert and sending them crashing to the floor. From there, they were quickly made short work of with full body binds and stunners, followed shortly thereafter by the pixies as Ron and Harry organized everyone to one side of the room to avoid friendly fire. So many wands made it a simple matter to stun the pixies and vanish the water from the floor, but the glitter was another matter, until Ron came up with the idea to use two sets of wands to blow it out all the front door. With some semblance of peace restored, the Weasleys changed clothing and Molly brought blankets from an upstairs linen closet for Fleur and Penelope to use to cover up. Before long, a search had started for the missing George Weasley.

"He's not in the house," Charlie said, pointing at the clock, his voice returned to normal. George's hand pointed to 'traveling'.

"Honestly, he's really gone too far this time," Percy said, holding Penelope about the shoulders.

Ginny hadn't bothered to change, covered in Harry's invisibility cloak as she was, and her disembodied head floated next to him, smiling as she watched the last of the cleanup.

"What's got you in such a good mood?" Harry asked.

"George hasn't pulled a single prank all year," Ginny replied.

Harry nodded. Perhaps this represented some kind of return to normality for him. Still, nobody would be settled until they knew where he was.

"I'm going to take a walk around, see if I can find him," he said quietly. Ginny nodded and Harry slipped into the kitchen to disillusion himself, then exited out the back.

"_Left my coat inside_," he thought, "_bugger._"

He quickly cast a warming charm as the late-December air cut right through his clothing.

"_Appare vestigium,_" he whispered, and the golden flecks swirled about, illuminating George's footsteps as he left the Burrow a few minutes back. Harry followed the images and almost immediately suspected where he was headed. The trail led to a small hillock overlooking the Burrow. He put his training to good use as he silenced himself for the final approach. In a small clearing near the top of the hill, where one could sit and look over the Weasley family home, sat a small headstone, a dusting of snow across the top of it and a beater's bat leaning against the side. Fresh flowers lay at the base, and the soil hadn't quite evened out yet. George sat next to the grave on what Harry assumed was a transfigured wooden chair, as no snow lay upon it.

"I wasn't sure you know," George said, speaking more or less in the headstone's general direction, "but then they were all trying to act like everything was okay, as if you weren't gone. Honestly Fred, it was one of the best pranks we've ever pulled, you should have seen it."

George sighed heavily.

"It wasn't easy," he said, "I kept looking for you to bounce ideas off of, or distract mum… and then I remembered, I have to do it all myself now."

He looked up to the sky, breaths escaping in white puffs in the wan light of the sinking crescent moon.

"It worked though, brilliantly," George said, "well, except for the disillusionment; should have thought of that. Anyway, I guess… I guess that's it then. See you again soon."

He sat in silence for a few more seconds then stood up, vanished the chair, and started heading back towards the Burrow, only to stop a few feet from where Harry stood.

"Hello," George said.

Harry let his disillusionment fall in a dark fizzle, and George's expression grew slightly grim.

"How did you know?" Harry asked.

George pointed to the ground.

"Footprints," he said.

Harry looked down to see dark prints in the snow where he'd walked up the path, ending where he stood.

"Ah, right," he said.

"Nice one making everyone invisible, I hadn't thought of that," George said.

"I saw plenty more than I'd bargained for before I figured it out, thanks very much," Harry said.

"So… are they very cross?" George asked, thumbing the scar where he'd lost his ear.

"Cross and worried, worried and cross," Harry replied, "why'd you do it?"

George crossed his arms over his chest.

"I sort of realized I'd been a bit of a git to everyone," he replied, "and I thought a simple sorry wouldn't quite make enough of a statement."

"So you did… that," Harry said.

"Hopefully everyone will be able to look back and have a good laugh," George said, "eventually."

Harry thought about it for a second. It was fairly hilarious in retrospect, though Fleur might take a bit of convincing.

"Hopefully. It might take a bit of doing, come on, let's head back," Harry said.

"Hang on, while I've got you alone, I'm sorry I was such a tosser to you too Harry, especially," George said, "I realized it on Halloween, at St. Mungo's… while I was sitting around at home, they're still coming for you, and you're out there risking your life, so… sorry."

"It's alright, I, um-" Harry said.

"_Damn, I was never any good at this sort of thing,_" Harry thought.

"I know a little bit what it's like, losing someone, not that it's the same for me and you, but…" Harry said, "well, let's just say I never took it personal; I always knew it was the grief talking."

George shook his head and puffed out a breath.

"You're a good wizard, Harry," he said, extending his hand.

"I do the best I can, sometimes I get lucky and it's good enough," Harry said, shaking George's hand vigorously, "That was a brilliant prank. I'm glad you're feeling a bit better; everyone else is too, I'm sure. Or at least, will be."

George nodded.

"Let's head back then," he said.

They returned, entering through the kitchen and into the living room. All of the doxies and Sweet Tooth gnomes now lay imprisoned in separate metal cages, where they pulled and gnawed on the bars, attempting to escape.

"George, Harry!" came the chorus. Harry noted Bill and Fleur's absence.  
"_Hope she's not too put out_," Harry thought.

Once it was ascertained George was unharmed, the tones of concern, already bordering on aggressive, turned nearly to outraged shouting, until one voice towered above them all.

"George Fabian Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley screamed as she descended from the second story to the third step, "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Erm," George said, shifting uneasily, "I'm sorry?"

"Sorry doesn't begin to cover it," Mrs. Weasley shouted.

"I'm sorry I've been such a git for the past six months," George said, looking around the room, "I took… I took it hard."

That caused everyone to fall silent and exchange uncomfortable glances.

"I said a lot of things I shouldn't have," George continued, "and I guess this is… well this is my way of saying I'm sorry."

Everyone was silent for a moment, and then Percy, of all people, Percy walked over and embraced George in a tight hug. Harry thought he overheard him say something like 'we're always here for you', but he couldn't be certain. After that, especially with Christmas just around the corner, the large family took turns welcoming George back or punching him on the arm, sometimes both, and reassuring him they would always help each other out.

Harry felt a tap on his shoulder.

"You forgot to cover your tracks," Ron whispered.  
"I'd wondered where you got off to," Harry replied quietly, "did you hear the whole thing?"

Ron nodded.

"What do you think?" Ron asked.

"Hopefully he's turned a corner," Harry replied quietly.

"We'll see, but I haven't seen him this, well… alive, in ages," Ron replied. Ginny slipped her hand into Harry's and the two of them shared a look and a smile.

"I have extra desserts stashed in my room, I'll go get them," George suddenly said, sprinting up the stairs two at a time. Harry smiled at the display; it seemed things were looking up for a change and it was impossible to avoid having his spirits buoyed by the festive aura of family and forgiveness that was the Christmas season at the Burrow.

* * *

The following morning, Harry awoke to an owl from Dawlish, requesting him to meet at Auror HQ as soon as was convenient. Harry dressed quickly and said goodbye to Andromeda and Teddy, then floo'd over to the Ministry. A few minutes later he knocked on the Head Auror's door and leaned against the wall outside Dawlish's office for a moment or two until it opened. Mackenzie looked out, nodded to him, then gestured for him to enter.

"Come in, Potter," he said, a troubled expression on his face.

Harry entered, closed the door, and took the seat in front of Dawlish as Mackenzie sat off to one side.

"The evaluators have given their feedback," Mackenzie said.

Harry's heart rate immediately spiked, thumping in his chest.

"They've given a passing mark to the entire team," Mackenzie continued, "congratulations."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

"Is there any specific feedback for me?" Harry asked.

"Yes, but we need to discuss something important first," Dawlish replied, "the entire team received passing scores, but we only have quota for one pureblood."

"_Both Ron and Shawn are pureblood,_" Harry thought as his eyes widened.

"Davis is going to be put on hold until a spot frees up," Mackenzie said.

The unfairness of the situation quickly struck Harry, as he no doubt assumed it would strike Shawn.

"But sir, we're a team, and he's the best of us," Harry said, "surely we can make an exception. We'd be better off hunting down dark wizards with Davis than without him."

Dawlish made a motion with his and as if to say 'told you so', but Mackenzie continued.

"If we make an exception for him, we'd have to make other exceptions, and we simply can't, not when the Wizarding Equality Act is being so stringently observed by every other department," Mackenzie said.

Harry's mouth moved a few times before any sound came out as ideas popped into his head and were just as quickly discarded.

"So what's the plan then?" Harry asked.

"You'll start with a five Auror team," Dawlish replied.

"All of the training was for a six-person team, and Shawn's been at it for three years, how can… how can the Ministry do this?" Harry asked.

"You are preaching to the choir, Potter, but the law is the law," Dawlish replied, "we don't make them, we only enforce them, and we can't very well enforce the laws if we're not willing to abide by them."

Harry recalled the Wizarding Equality Act. He'd been attending an award ceremony in Paris when it was passed; his seats had been vacant. Not that he would have voted against it as he naturally very much agreed with ensuring fair treatment for muggleborns, but this…

"Yes, but-" Harry said.

"Enough," Dawlish said, "we're not here to debate the decision, it's done, unless you'd like to replace Weasley with Davis."

Harry knew he couldn't make that decision; how would he ever face Ron again? With sudden clarity and insight, he understood that was exactly the decision Mackenzie, or more likely Dawlish, had had to make, weighing the pros and cons of the new team having Ron Weasley or Shawn Davis, but not both. He quieted down with the realization the decision couldn't have been easy; Shawn was clearly more versatile and skilled than Ron in almost every measurable category except strategy, and perhaps straight up duelling… it was tough to tell since Shawn avoided fighting toe-to-toe if he could. Still, Ron must have had something else going for him.

Harry shook his head slowly.

"No sir," Harry said.

"Right," Dawlish said, "the reason you're here alone, Potter, is because I suspected you would react exactly the way you did. Your loyalty to your team is admirable, but that's not your job right now. Your job, your first order as an Auror, is to get the rest of the team on board when we make the announcement to them."

Harrys mouth dropped open.

"Backing up a decision or a law you don't personally agree with? Part and parcel of the job, welcome to the force," Dawlish said, "you might not like it, but any resentment is only going to hamper the team, and often there's no second chances when it comes to hunting dark wizards. Believe it or not Potter, the others look up to you."

Harry started to protest. They were older, more experienced, they each had their own strengths. Dawlish held up a hand.

"You might not realize it Harry, but you're a natural leader. During the trial, it was you who took charge. When it counted, on Halloween, they all looked to you," Dawlish said, "they all broke orders to follow _you_, and they'll follow your lead now."

Harry swallowed. Once again, it was up to him. He nodded. The stakes were clear, and he wasn't about to disobey his first direct order from the Head Auror.

"Alright sir, I'll do it," he said.

"_Now I've just got to figure out what I'm going to say,_" he thought.

* * *

Later that day, Harry sat in the same office with Dawlish, Mackenzie, and the rest of the team except Shawn.

"The evaluations are in. Congratulations, you've all passed the trial, welcome to the Aurors," Mackenzie said.

Elizabeth spoke up almost immediately, interrupting the collective sigh of relief from the trainees.

"Sir, what about Davis?" she asked.

Harry zoned out as Mackenzie answered her, and the protesting started just as Dawlish predicted it would, all except for Ron who stayed relatively quiet.

"_Will they really follow my lead?_" he thought. The answer frightened him either way.

"This is ridiculous," Tammy said, gesturing forcefully with one hand, "Harry, what do you think?"

Harry sat quietly for a moment as if formulating his response while the others stared at him.

"I think," he said slowly, "we can't be enforcing laws if we're not willing to observe them. So… I think we need to accept the reality for now, even though the law might be flawed. I think eventually the law will be changed, or quota space will open up, or Head Auror Dawlish will secure an exemption, but until then, I think it's up to us to do the best we can without Davis, and welcome him in when we can."

Harry looked around at the others, seeing them slowly nod in agreement. The rest of the conversation went by in a blur as Harry reflected on what had just happened. He'd just persuaded a group of his peers to go along with something they didn't agree with, something he personally didn't agree with, through nothing but his words alone.

"_Wow," _Harry thought as newfound confidence coursed through him,_ "What else could I convince people to do? More importantly, how can I make sure I don't go wrong?_"

"Thank you all, we'll see you here on January 4th at 0900," Dawlish said, snapping him back to the present.

Harry stood with the others and saluted, then filed out of the office, perhaps standing a little bit taller. They agreed to head for a drink with the others, but Ron slowed up a bit to speak quietly with Harry after they filed out of the lift, and both of them hung back from the rest of the newly ordained Aurors. Ron had a bit of a shellshocked expression on his face.

"Not that I'm complaining, but I can't believe they picked me over Davis," Ron said quietly.

"He _is_ really good," Harry said, "but you're more reliable, remember what Mackenzie said about Davis' consistency?"

"Yeah, but still," Ron said, "he must be gutted, hope he doesn't take it personal."

Harry shook his head. He often found it difficult to tell when Davis was being serious and when he was taking the piss, so he wasn't really sure how Shawn would react to the news.

"I want to take a look at that law as well, this can't be the best way," Harry said, "maybe I can figure out how to propose a change. In the meantime, maybe we should meet up with Davis, you know, keep him in the loop as much as we can."

Ron nodded as they lagged behind in the Atrium. When they floo'd to Diagon, well behind the others, Harry thought he'd try out his newfound influence with words.

"Ron," Harry said, putting his hand on his best friend's shoulder, "they didn't make a mistake. They picked you because you're the best wizard for the job. We took down Voldemort together. I could go up against a dark wizard a hundred times and you're my first pick to go with me, _every_ time."

Ron straightened up at that, and Harry thought to pour a little more on.

"Would you pick Davis over me?" Harry asked.

Ron snorted.

"Fuck no," Ron replied.

"Exactly. Now let's get a pint and see what the others think," Harry said.


	17. Chapter 17

Warning: Thoughts of suicide

Harry Potter belongs to JKR

Chapter 17

Bellatrix stood in the centre of the large circle dug into the forest floor, double checking the inscriptions on the stones and candles set at seven points around the edges. The naked branches swayed above, but no breeze stirred where she stood. Four weeks. Four weeks spent on the creation of the ritual circle and the harness embedded in the ground within it, the wards surrounding it, the chiselling of the runestones, the covert procurement of reagents from Slughorn's stores and the brewing of special potions at the Dark Lord's instruction. Tonight, on the longest night of the year, when the Veil was thinnest, she would harness the power of the Resurrection Stone to allow her beloved to cross back into the mortal realm. Bellatrix would have preferred to conduct the ritual somewhere hidden away, but the Dark Lord insisted on using the intersection of ley lines near Hogwarts to enhance the ritual as much as possible. No one had accomplished what they were trying to achieve, but the Dark Lord, confident in their success, continued to heap praise upon Bellatrix's devotion and capabilities. Every time he did so, Bellatrix felt a small high run through her, and she couldn't keep the smile from her face or the spring from her step at the recognition.

Still, it was a complicated ritual, and the requirements were gut-wrenchingly horrid.

"_Actually, horrid doesn't come close, but I'll do it, I'd do anything to be with him,_" she thought, "_I can always obliviate myself afterwards._"

Bellatrix comforted herself with this knowledge as she went about the final preparations. She'd had very little experience with soul magic but as the Dark Lord reminded her, he'd gone much farther down the path than any other. He explained the process to her: Tonight's ritual would allow his soul to cross back over, and a second ritual requiring a blood and bone and flesh sacrifice would reconstitute his body. Until the second ritual could be performed, he would require a living vessel to house his soul after he crossed, but a wholly human vessel wasn't suitable; he needed a hybrid. Not just any hybrid either, but a hybrid that had never been alive before; the Dark Lord's soul needed to inhabit a hybrid body from conception.

Hybrids were common, even hybrids that bred true. Hippogriffs, manticores, and chimeras were but a few of the magical beasts that now existed as a result of magical experimentation. She didn't need a hybrid that bred true; she only needed it to survive out of the womb for a few months. Bellatrix triple checked the brimstone set in the grooves in the ground, making sure it was spread as evenly as possible.

"_It is a great honour, what he's asked me to do,_" she thought, trying to convince herself, "_I will carry the Dark Lord's soul within my body and give rise to his rebirth, bringing him back into this world. Then I will conduct the ritual to restore him fully to life. Surely nothing could show my devotion more completely, surely he will take me as his queen afterwards..._"

Bellatrix did her best to still her apprehension of the task before her as she glanced over her shoulder at the winged reptilian beast tethered to a nearby tree. The thought of encouraging this thing to mount her and mate with her… she swallowed and took an unsteady breath.

"_The Dark Lord was insistent_," she thought, "_a thestral is best suited for its association with Death, and the act must be completed as close to midnight as possible._"

She'd cast several spells and taken several potions already, both to prepare her body physically to be able to accept the hybrid, and to make herself desirable to the creature once she released it and admitted it to the wards, but there was nothing she could do to prepare her mind for going through with the profane act.

The time drew near, and with a wave of her wand, Bellatrix ignited the seven large red and black candles around the edge of the circle, casting eerie shadows on the trees around her. Although the temperature inside the wards was warmer than the frigid December night air outside of them, Bellatrix still shivered as she felt a pulse of magic from the circle. She dipped a hand into the pocket of her robes and withdrew the Stone, turning it over three times.

"_Lord Voldemort,_" she thought. The familiar shadow slithered into existence, appearing near a candle and looking oddly out of place near the source of light.

"_Good, Bella_," the Shadow whispered, inspecting the circle, "_have you prepared yourself as I have instructed?_"

"I have, my Lord," Bellatrix replied.

"_I long for the day when I can hold you in my embrace again,_" the Shadow whispered, "_it is time, begin the ritual._"

Bellatrix disrobed, making sure to keep hold of the stone as she slipped out of her clothing and shoes. Despite the wards, her nipples crinkled as they hit the chilly air, and the protective magic did nothing to warm the frozen ground beneath her toes. Now completely nude except for her wand and the stone, candlelight lit her body in tones of orange. Its meagre warmth pushed the cold air back ever so slightly as she stepped lightly in front of the harness that would hold her at the right height to allow the thestral to approach from behind and pump its seed into her. The potion she'd previously taken coursed through her, making her wet and ready, but she hesitated for a second, and the Dark Lord must have noticed.

"_I know it is difficult, dear Bella, but soon I will be inside of you_," the Shadow whispered, "_do this for me, and we will forever share a bond that can never be broken. You will have all you desire, and we will live together, for all eternity._"

"Yes, my Lord," Bellatrix replied, "together we will expunge the filth that has invaded our bloodlines, and build the perfect society."

"_Indeed, my most loyal Bella,_" the Shadow replied, "_our thoughts have ever aligned on this. When I first met you, you were but a child, but even then I knew you would become my greatest disciple, and tonight, I will once again be proven correct._"

Bellatrix couldn't help but grin at the Dark Lord's praise as she clambered into the harness and lay forward, the thick cloth stretched beneath her supporting her weight. The smile stayed despite the extremely vulnerable position she lay in, bent over and hanging in the harness, ankles looped through rope and feet braced against wooden posts driven two feet into the ground. Beneath her, brimstone lay dormant in the rune engraved on the frozen ground, one of the Dark Lord's own invention. At the completion of the ritual, the sulfur would ignite and transfer the rune her, branding itself onto her stomach.

"_Soon it will all be over and we can have revenge against the mudbloods and blood traitors,_" she thought, "_great magic requires great sacrifice; only a truly pureblooded witch or wizard could have conceived of magic such as this, the blackest of the Dark Arts._"

"Can you believe those stupid blood traitors think you're a half-blood," she murmured to herself.

"_Yes,_" the Shadow whispered quietly.

"My lord?" Bellatrix asked, thinking perhaps she'd missed something while musing.

"_It is not important_," the Shadow replied, "_open the wards._"

"Yes, my Lord," Bellatrix replied, glancing over her shoulder to aim her wand properly and dismantling a small section of the wards protecting the ritual circle. A few small circular waves saw the rope tethering the thestral to the tree untied and drop to the ground, and she turned to face forward again. Several long sniffs reached her ears as it approached, no doubt sensing the secretions from the potion meant to mimic a female thestral in heat. Its instinct would drive it forward to where she waited.

"_Not long now_," she thought, the light of the candles beneath her forming after images on her retinas.

Something about the Dark Lord's response wriggled around in her brain though. The Dark Lord had answered her spoken question. Bellatrix thought back.

"_Have I ever asked a question directly?_" she thought. She couldn't think of a single instance over the past month.

"My Lord," Bellatrix said as the thestral stepped closer, sniffing and making 'whuff' sounds, only a few feet away.

"_Soon it will be over, my sweet, sweet Bella,_" the Shadow whispered.

Her breathing quickened with apprehension, but not for the reason the Dark Lord would think.

"_Ask him a question, any question_," Bellatrix thought.

"How did Harry Potter survive your attack as a baby?" she blurted out.

The Shadow hissed.

"_The broodmare of a mother of his chose to sacrifice herself in protection of the child, invoking an ancient blood magic and providing him with protection,_" the Shadow replied, "_do not speak of this again._"

"_He answered,_" she thought, "_but that doesn't prove anything. I have to ask another, quickly."_

She looked down to see the thestral's clawed feet positioned directly behind her now, and she felt its hot breath as it sniffed her backside. Her stomach twisted at the thought of it penetrating her.

"_Now or never,_" she thought.

"Are you compelled to answer my questions truthfully?" Bellatrix asked.

"_Yesss,_" the Shadow hissed, "_the ritual, Bella, there is no time!_"

"Forgive me my Lord, I must know," Bellatrix said, twisting about and hitting the thestral square in the chest with a full-body-bind before it went any further.

"_What are you doing?_" the Shadow hissed.

She levitated the winged creature a few feet away and set it down. Holding the stone in one hand she breathed deeply. If she was wrong, the Dark Lord might not forgive her, but given the circumstances, if he truly did feel the same way about her as she did him, he would. This question, this question was sacrilege to ask, but she had to know.

"Are you pure blooded?" she asked.

"_No, my father was a filthy muggle, so I murdered him,_" the Shadow replied.

"_It's true!_" she thought. Bellatrix started to hyperventilate, breaths coming short and fast as she placed an elbow against the harness to steady herself. A sense of revulsion swept through her; she'd pledged her undying love to a half-blood! The Dark Lord was hissing something about having expunged the tainted blood from his body, but her own thoughts drowned out whatever it was.

"_They were right about that… but if they were right about that…_" she thought, "_if he could lie so convincingly about that…_"

"Do you love me?" she whispered, nausea sweeping through her.

"_No_," the Shadow replied, "_love is weakness."_

The answer hit her like a physical punch to the gut, and she doubled over in the harness but refused to cry.

"_Enough questions! Complete the ritual and you shall have all that you desire, so says Lord Voldemort!" _the Shadow said, growing and shrinking in size.

"_Perhaps the Dark Lord merely admires me?" _she thought, "_ask another way, Bella."_

"What are your feelings towards me?" Bellatrix asked, almost choking on the words.

"_You are a useful and capable tool, but one that must be kept on a tight leash, so that your loyalty never wavers_," the Shadow replied, followed by a long, frustrated hiss.

Bellatrix froze. A useful tool. Kept on a tight leash. She almost couldn't believe the words, and she wouldn't have if it were anyone else who told her. But they came from the Dark Lord himself, compelled to truth by the power of the Resurrection Stone.

"No," she whispered.

"_Bella, complete the ritual, we shall rule together,_" the Shadow hissed.

She looked down at the undulating darkness, clearly agitated as it twisted across the forest floor. The Stone gave her power to discern the Dark Lord's intentions, she'd be a fool not to use them.

"What are you plans for me after you've regained your body?" she asked.

"_I will extract the secret of how you survived and created this new and younger body your soul now inhabits, then I will destroy you,_" the Shadow replied, hissing and railing impotently.

"You fucking bastard!" Bellatrix shrieked, dropping down from the harness, her bare feet landing inside the ritual circle again.

"_He doesn't love me, I'm just a tool to him, he doesn't care about me, he was using me all along, he doesn't love me, I'm just a tool to him, he doesn't care about me, he was using me all along," _she thought, "_he's going to KILL me!_"

The words went round and round in her head, until she realized she was screaming and raving at the trees, the wards showing glowing blue spiderweb cracks where she'd damaged them with her spells. She stopped, panting with the exertion of her rage.

"_Control yourself, finish the ritual! Lord Voldemort commands you!_" the Shadow hissed.

She looked up to see the thestral, still standing, still bound.

"_I'll finish it alright,_" she thought.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" she shouted, channelling her rage and betrayal, and the burst of green light snuffed out the life force of the thestral, dropping it to the ground in a heap of limbs and wings.

"_No!" _the Shadow hissed,_ "You stupid whore!_"

"I loved you! I fucking did everything for you!" Bellatrix screamed, "I went to Azkaban, I killed for you, I tortured for you! I died for you!"

The Shadow hissed something at her but she couldn't hear it. She paused, lower lip trembling. Another thought occurred to her, a conversation she'd had over a month ago.

"I killed my own father for you, I murdered my niece and my cousin for you! My entire house is destroyed because of you!" she screamed, spittle flying from her mouth, "you're not even pureblooded, you… you, you half-blood filth!"

"_Just like Harry Potter,_" a little voice that sounded remarkably like Ginny Weasley said inside her head, "_just like Albus Dumbledore, just like Gellert Grindelwald._"

"_Fuck them, there's plenty of magic in this pure-blooded witch,_" Bellatrix thought.

She looked down at the ritual circle and pointed her wand. The Shadow hissed something but she couldn't understand or comprehend what it was saying.

"_Expulso_," she said.

Blue light flashed from her wand, brilliant as a bolt of lightning, fuelled by her raging emotions. With a loud bang, the forest floor the ritual circle sat upon exploded, throwing up a ton of dirt, stones, sulphur, tree roots and candle wax. Bits and pieces rained down her and the ground nearby for a few seconds after the light faded, and the smell of rotten eggs reached her nostrils from the brimstone.

The light had gone out of her world, leaving her lost and alone in the darkness. Where blind infatuation once lit her heart with an incandescent blaze, now only cold, black despair remained.

"I hate you," she sniffed, running her hand over her stomach, thinking of how close she'd come to having the Dark Lord's brand upon her skin, "I hate you and…"

Her expression hardened.

"_Now I will destroy the stone,_" she thought.

She tossed the stone onto the ground, causing the Shadow to vanish, and aimed her wand carefully. She didn't know if fiendfyre would work, but it probably would.

"_Can I control it?_" she thought, then, "_do I even care if it consumes me now?_"

"_Venor Ambusto…._" she said, the first two-thirds of the incantation, but with her wand raised she paused. Magic ran in her blood; magic was who she was. Magic was what elevated her above animals and muggles. Even now it sang in her veins and called to her to finish the incantation and release it from its chains. Destroying an artifact of such power… the wrongness of it struck her.

"_I could speak to Reggie again,_" she thought, "_and Mother…_"

Slowly, she lowered her wand, then knelt to pick up the stone. She stood up, not bothering to brush the dirt from her knee, and walked back on frozen feet to her discarded clothing. In a daze, she pulled her socks on first, then awkwardly slipped her limbs back into her clothes, not bothering to tuck her shirt, button her robe, or affix her tie. Her hands trembled as the stone went back into her silk pouch, nestled in the inside pocket of her robes. She left the wards to fade on their own.

Unimaginable pain, raw and fresh, stabbed her heart like a dagger, and tears splashed onto clothing and dirt as she walked back to the nearest path.

"_A cutting curse to the neck would end it quickly; it would hurt for a moment, then it wouldn't hurt anymore_," she thought, but the idea of her hot steaming blood spilling out and freezing on the ground for someone to find made her stop before she even brought her wand to her neck. She stumbled over a root and kept walking.

"_I'm alone, completely alone,_" she thought, "_nobody even knows I'm alive, and even if they did, they'd want to kill me throw me in prison. And it's all my fault. I did it, I ruined my whole life, and the lives of my family, and countless others, because I believed a lie._"

She walked with her head down, breaths puffing out in the crisp cold air, not even bothering to keep watch in the dangerous Forbidden Forest. She almost hoped something would come to put her out of her misery, but nothing did. Her legs carried her successfully through the trees and across the grassy castle grounds, back to the lit windows of Hogwarts. Her heart seemed to alternate beats between wanting to live or die, but in between envisioning herself slicing her neck with a dagger or throwing herself off the Astronomy Tower or hanging herself off the bridge, more and more she felt one thing more keenly than anything else: she didn't want to be alone. She paused at the window above the courtyard and her thoughts turned to the bushy haired mudblood she'd spent so much time getting close to.

"_I know Hermione at least, she'll… maybe she can…_" Bellatrix thought, the mental thread stuttering out unfinished.

Slipping inside the castle, she stumbled through the corridors and descended into the dungeons where they'd spent hours upon hours together. Bellatrix had broken her promise to return to the project, but perhaps Hermione wouldn't throw her out; she desperately needed human contact right now.

"_I have nowhere else to go_," she thought as she crossed the threshold of the potions lab. Hermione stood hunched over a bubbling cauldron, hair as out of control as ever, robe already discarded and slung over one of the stools, carefully stirring and noting her results on a muggle notepad next to her. She glanced down and back, probably identifying Julia by her shoes as the door opened, then looked back to the brew.

"So, look who finally decided to show up. It's only been a month," Hermione said.

"I-," Julia whispered, unable to get any words out.

Hermione set the stirrer down.

"Well? Do you think you can just sashay back in here like-" Hermione started, but she stopped short when she turned to face the door, locked eyes with Julia, and noticed shattered appearance. Hermione's mouth dropped open and her annoyed expression immediately gave way to shock and concern.

"What happened?" she asked.

A sob caught in Bellatrix's chest, but she forced herself not to break into tears. Hermione ripped her goggles off and was by her side in an instant but stopped short, taking in Julia's untucked clothing.

"Did someone hurt you?" she asked.

Bellatrix managed a nod, and Hermione pulled her into a gentle embrace. Something as simple as a hug brought sobs so powerful they rendered her almost incapable of speech. Here she was, showing up after a month of blowing her off and secretly plotting to kill her friends, and Hermione instantly dropped what she was doing to comfort her. And Bellatrix was lying to her. Her entire existence was a lie. She clutched onto the back of Hermione's robes like a drowning witch would a lifeline in a stormy sea. Heavy sobs wracked her body and she cried for the love she'd lost, she cried for the betrayal she'd suffered, and she cried for the ordeal she'd nearly subjected herself to earlier that same night. All along, Hermione stroked her back and murmured encouraging sounds or phrases into her ear. Finally, physically spent but still hiccupping, Julia pushed back and stared at the wet spot on Hermione's robes. Her wand dropped into her hand.

"_Scourgify, aquosiccin,"_ she muttered, more or less cleaning up the mess.

"Are you… injured?" Hermione asked.

Julia understood the meaning of her question, and shook her head silently. Hermione breathed a small sigh of relief.

"What happened?" Hermione asked.

How to even begin answering a question like that? Bellatrix looked down at the floor of the potions lab then into Hermione's eyes, the light brown orbs worried with genuine concern. For one crazy second, Bellatrix considered coming completely clean with Hermione, telling her everything.

"_At first she wouldn't believe me,_" Julia thought, "_then I would untie the glamour, and then…_"

And then Hermione would either curse her or run to alert the authorities, and Bellatrix would be alone forever, on the run, always looking over her shoulder for the Aurors sure to be on her trail to throw her into Azkaban, or worse, send her to be Kissed. She shook her head.

"It's okay. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Hermione said, and Julia realized she'd been waiting for a response for some time. She felt she had to give her something, some nugget of truth.

"I thought he loved me," she whispered, nearly breaking down again at the admission, but forced herself to swallow and steady herself on a nearby table.

"Who?" Hermione asked, "I didn't even know you were seeing anyone."

"My…. ex," Julia replied, "ex-fiancé."

Hermione's eyes flicked to Julia's left hand, and the bare finger there.

"You were engaged?" Hermione asked, reaching to the wall to pick up a clean cloth off a hook and pass it to Julia as tears dripped anew.

"Betrothed," Julia replied, keeping to the same story she'd told Neville.

She wiped her face and blew her nose, tear ducts in pain from overuse.

"But I loved him deeply," she forced herself to say over the pain in her chest, coming again in waves, "with everything I had… and tonight I found out... and it's over."

"Found out what? Is that where you've been all this time, with your fiancé?" Hermione asked.

Bellatrix nodded.

"He's not here, we found a way to speak to each other," she replied, weaving truth with her lies, "but he let something slip and… it all came undone."

Bellatrix paused. She tried to think of a story that would make sense, but came up short.

"It's complicated, and painful, and…he lied to me for years and…he used me, and my feelings for him. And…" Julia said, "and I'm such an _idiot_."

She buried her face in the cloth and squeezed her eyes shut.

"_I murdered Father for the Dark Lord_," she thought. If she hadn't done that, would there even have been a Wizarding War in the first place? Would the House of Black still stand as a pillar of wizarding society? Who knew how events might have played out; even now she had no idea of what had actually happened in those early days.

"Stop that," Hermione said, putting her hand on her shoulder. Bellatrix looked up at her, vision blurry again.

"I don't know the details but… you're a brilliant witch," Hermione said.

Bellatrix snorted and blinked a few times.

"You are," Hermione said, "and your ex, whatever he did, it's not your fault."

The Dark Lord had destroyed her life, but deep down she knew it wasn't only Lord Voldemort's fault; no doubt she'd made her own decisions every step of the way to aid him however she could, just like she'd almost done again tonight.

"_What am I without the Dark Lord?_" she thought.

Bellatrix felt like an empty discarded shell. She walked and talked, but inside it was as if she were an imitation of a real person, one with no real substance, a glamoured exterior with nothing of worth beneath.

"What was his name?" Hermione asked.

Bellatrix sniffled. What could she say? Then she hit upon the perfect answer.

"Thomas," she replied.

"Well, whatever he did, Thomas is an asshole," Hermione said, "I can say that without a doubt. You're a good witch Julia, and you're better off without him."

"_I don't even know who I am without him,_" Bellatrix thought.

"I don't even… sorry for leaving you like that for so long," Julia said, "I'll come back, if you still want me that is."

Hermione paused and for a second Bellatrix thought she might decline, but then she nodded her head.

"Of course," Hermione said, "but it's past midnight now, umm… do you need anything? Food?"

Bellatrix shook her head.

"Alright, let me clean up and then we can try to sleep. You'll feel better in the morning," Hermione said.

"I'll help," Julia said.

Busying herself with tidying the potions lab helped take her mind off the events of the night. Afterwards, they headed across the hall to wash up, and Bellatrix stepped into one of the shower stalls to strip off her clothing and stand under the scalding stream of water for an almost inappropriately long time. The dirt of the forest and the stink of thestral pheromones washed down into the drain, and she left her hair slightly damp as she changed into her purple nightgown and slippers. She emerged from the lab to find Hermione waiting patiently for her.

"Feel better?" Hermione asked.

Bellatrix nodded in response. The potions she'd taken earlier were starting to make her lightheaded, and the hallway twisted and spun as they returned to the lab. Hermione caught her arm and steadied her as she stumbled.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

Bellatrix nodded.

"Just exhausted," Julia replied.

They walked the rest of the way with Bellatrix letting Hermione lead her by the elbow back to the tent, and she practically fell into her bunk while Hermione changed into her nightclothes slipped into her own bed.

"Julia?" Hermione said, and Julia hmm'ed in response.

"I'm not being hyperbolic when I say he's the one losing out on an amazing witch," Hermione said, "whatever he did, I'm glad you got away from him. I'll see you in the morning."

Bellatrix smiled wryly at the words she knew were meant to try and cheer her up, but the warm feelings turned bitter at the thought that it was all a show, that even now she was being dishonest about who she really was.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Bellatrix expected to crash into sleep straight away, but the combination of potions only made her feel dizzy and a bit outside herself, not drowsy. She lay on her back and stared at the bunk above her as it whirled about, her body occasionally swaying slightly in response to the vertigo.

"_What am I going to do?_" she thought. With the Dark Lord's betrayal, Bellatrix felt utterly bereft of purpose. Her entire existence since she'd awoken in the vault, indeed, even for some years before that, was to create the perfect world side by side with him, a righteous world governed by those pure of blood and magic.

"_Well that's all gone to shit now, the bastard wasn't even pureblood,_" she thought, "_perhaps I could do it on my own…_"

It would be an uphill battle. Many of the older and more traditional families had been wiped out or severely thinned by the two conflicts, hers among them. The ones that remained were putting as much distance between themselves and pureblood ideology as they could. They wouldn't do anything, not even covertly, much less publicly, to even appear to backtrack that without a strong reason for doing so.

"_At the end of the day though, when all was said and done, we lost," _she thought, _"we lost twice. If purity and magic were truly tied strongly together, we should have won, would have won, easily._"

With none of the most powerful wizards in the past half-century being pureblood, it seemed the entire premise might be built on a foundation of sand anyway. Bellatrix shed another tear, this one falling back to land on her pillow next to her ear.

"_The mudbloods are still weaker than purebloods and half-bloods,_" she thought, clinging to what she could. Then she recalled the conversation with Ginny Weasley on the way back from the quidditch pitch, not long ago.

"Hermione?" Julia whispered.

"Hmm?" Hermione replied. It seemed Bellatrix wasn't the only one unable to sleep.

"Just asking, are you secretly pureblood, or half-blood?" Julia asked.

"_Probably shouldn't have just dropped it on her like that,_" she thought, but her mind was feeling fuzzy and she'd spoken without thinking.

"What?" Hermione replied, "no, of course not, why would you…?"

"Are you certain?" Julia asked, turning to face across the tent. She couldn't really make out any details, but she could see the outline of Hermione's silhouette as she lay in the bunk.

"Yes, I'm quite certain, considering I stumbled on my birth video when I was nine," she replied, "it's seared into my memory."

She paused for a second but Julia wasn't really sure what a video was, so she missed her chance to speak.

"You thought there's no way a muggleborn could be as clever as I am, is it?" Hermione asked, insult giving her voice an edge.

"It's just… you have to understand, we purebloods-" Julia said.

"Let me guess, dirty blood, stolen magic," Hermione said, interrupting, more than a little disdain and venom seeping through.

"That's not it," Julia said.

"_Not entirely anyway_," she thought.

"I'm sure you've noticed, all the muggleborns struggle," Julia said, "all except you."

"That's because I _work_ at it, deliberately," Hermione said, her voice rising, "you only see the end result, but you don't see all the planning, revision, and practise that goes into it. It's not easy to make up the whole decade of knowledge non-muggleborns learned before coming to Hogwarts. Did you know I read through all my textbooks from front to back before the first day of class, every year? While others were off playing exploding snap or… snogging, or doing Merlin knows what, I was in the library, learning, or putting together revision plans, or trying to figure out a way to stay one step ahead of Tom bloody Riddle."

Hermione stopped her rant there, breathing hard, and Julia heard her consciously slow them.

"Sorry I brought it up," Julia said, "Thomas suggested it…"

Lies upon lies.

"I don't think you're secretly half-blood, or pureblood," Julia added, "he was wrong about you."

Bellatrix heard and saw Hermione turn to face her, though she still couldn't make out any features.

"Just how far down the pureblood supremacy road was your family?" Hermione asked.

Bellatrix swallowed. How much to tell her?

"All the way," she whispered, "before they died, all the way."

"And you bought into it?" Hermione asked.

"_Still do, mostly_," Julia thought.

"I suppose," she replied.

"_Probably should caveat that,_" she thought.

"When you know nothing else.." she added.

"I had no idea. Why did you become friends with me in the first place then?" Hermione asked.

"_Because I wanted to get close to you so you'd trust me enough to bring me to Harry Potter, so I could kill all three of you_," she thought.

Bellatrix sighed heavily.

"I don't know," she replied, "honestly, my father… he was strict. If he found out I'd befriended a.. someone like you, he'd… well, the punishment would have been severe."

Bellatrix thought back to Andy. According to Kreacher, she'd been cast out of the family for running off with a mudblood.

"_Father likely never got ahold of her after he found out,_" she thought. She shuddered to think at what he would have done to her.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered.

"What are _you_ apologising for?" Julia asked.

"That you had to grow up living with someone like that, who would punish you for making friends with the wrong person," Hermione replied.

Bellatrix twisted a bit of her sheet around her finger.

"I don't know anything different, so…" Julia replied.

"Why bring it up all of a sudden -oh," Hermione said, probably thinking it had something to do with the 'breakup'.

She fell quiet and the silence stretched. Again, in the darkness of the tent, Bellatrix felt she could confide anything. Perhaps it was the potions making her lightheaded, or perhaps it was the emotional trauma she'd been through earlier.

"You're not at all what I expected, you know," Julia whispered.

She heard Hermione chuckle softly.

"And what did you expect?" she asked.

"An annoying and arrogant muggleborn war hero," Julia replied, "but you're not. You're odd. You go out of your way to try and help people, even when they can't do anything for you."

"Flattery will get you nowhere Miss White," Hermione said, but Julia could hear her smile, "anyway, I could say the same thing about you. You helped that first year Slytherin, and Michaels, and you didn't get anything out of that."

"_I got closer to you,_" Bellatrix thought.

"I suppose," Julia replied.

A few more moments passed where Bellatrix heard nothing but breathing and her own heartbeat.

"I know it might seem like the end of the world, and you'll never be happy again, but I promise it'll get better," Hermione said, "let's do something after classes let out for the holiday to try and get your mind off it, alright?"

Bellatrix knew Hermione had exactly zero first-hand experience with even the first tendril of what she was feeling right now. Still, the little mudblood didn't _have_ to do anything at all, and given how focused on the project she was, Bellatrix was surprised she even offered.

"_Perhaps she's trying to make me feel better_," she thought, but Bellatrix couldn't stomach the thought of being polite around other people right now.

"I wouldn't mind just working in the lab, honestly," Julia said.

She heard more than saw Hermione nod.

"Are you staying over Christmas?" Hermione asked.

_Ugh._

"Bollocks," Julia replied, "I haven't got anyone gifts. Erm, yes, I haven't really anywhere to go."

"Me either. I mean me too," Hermione said, "That is… gifts have been done for weeks now, but I'll only have a dinner or two, that's all. The rest of the time I'll be here. I'm sure we can find something to occupy us, and there's still plenty of work that needs to be done for the project."

"_There are worse things in life,_" Bellatrix thought.

"I have nowhere else to be," Julia said.

Hermione yawned.

"It'll be good to have someone to spend time with," she said, "but we have class tomorrow, and I really need to sleep now."

They said their goodnights and Bellatrix listened to Hermione's breathing until she too eventually dropped off.

* * *

The following morning, Bellatrix opened her eyes to a gentle buzzing that gradually grew louder and more insistent until Hermione cancelled the alarm charm.

"Good morning," Hermione said, stifling a yawn as she sat up and looked over, "how do you feel?"

Bellatrix's eyes still hurt and there was crust on her face from where she'd wept overnight, and her entire body ached, like she'd been hit with few bludgeoning curses and healed not-quite-right.

"Like shit," she replied.

Hermione chuckled at the expletive.

"I meant, do you feel better than last night?" Hermione asked with a smile.

Actually, Bellatrix did feel somewhat better, if only because she narrowly avoided bringing back to life a monster who she'd misguidedly devoted her soul to. She nodded.

Hermione took a deep breath.

"Good, I'm hungry, let's eat," she said.

They dressed quickly and Bellatrix went through the motions of preparing for the day, but her mind was elsewhere. As she spooned scrambled eggs into her mouth and chewed mechanically, she reflected on how bizarre the past twelve hours had been.

"_It's almost too easy to slip back into this persona,_" she thought.

She took a sip of orange juice and swished it around, tapping her fingernails on the table as she mulled her options.

"_Maybe I could say screw it all, stay Julia White forever,_" she thought, "_it'd be living a lie, but what's the alternative?_"

She looked up at Hermione, who caught her gaze and gave her a polite smile before going back to eating and looking over some notes.

Bellatrix sighed.

"_The only regret would be never seeing Andy and Cissy again_," Bellatrix thought. The notion left her torn. She'd always been close with Andromeda; they were nearer in age, after all, and her sister shared the same sharp wit. Before she woke up in the vault, they'd been spending more time together, chatting about other students, who would be betrothed to whom, and occasionally arguing over borrowed clothing. Andy'd been preparing for OWLs, and Bellatrix, despite having read the history and hearing it from Kreacher, couldn't fathom falling out with her sister over anything.

"_Stupid, how could she have fallen for a mudblood?_" Bellatrix thought, her heart sinking again as she recalled she'd supposedly killed Andy's daughter, "_that probably puts any kind of reconciliation out of the question_."

"_Cissy though,_" she thought, "_maybe I could somehow contact Cissy. She knows how to keep a secret, and then at least there'd be something…_"

Bellatrix sleepwalked through classes, not participating at all. It wasn't as if she cared about scoring house points, and Christmas holidays were right around the corner anyway. Far more interesting was Hermione Granger, the swotty mudblood who, even now, continued to be the first to raise her hand to answer whenever any professor posed a question to the class, and who'd allowed Julia to join her project to bring the impossible to fruition.

"_What if we actually do it?_" Bellatrix thought, as she watched Hermione provide yet another perfect textbook response, "_what if we actually cure obliviation? We'd be famous, well, more famous in Hermione's case. And rich. And known for something good._"

More and more it was looking like she could simply continue on with this identity she'd created. The pain of Lord Voldemort's betrayal still hurt immensely, but it wasn't the impaled-heart kind of agony she'd felt the previous night. She looked at Hermione across the table at dinner and shook her head. The Golden Girl had her nose stuck in a book, again.

"I can tell you're watching me, you know," Hermione said, looking up with a knowing smirk, "but at least you're not staring off into space anymore. How are you feeling?"

"Better, somewhat," Julia replied, wanting to change the subject, "how's the project going, what did I miss?"

Hermione nodded and gave a half-smile, half-grimace.

"It's going well. As you know, we won't be able to heal the damaged memories, so we'll have to de-age them to a point before they were erased. I've started on the Arithmancy for the charm, but it needs to be integrated with the formulae for the potion and nearly every variable affects nearly every other variable to some degree," Hermione said, her expression dropping and hints of frustration creeping into her voice, "and there's a lot of experimentation still to be done for the potion to find the most efficient brew, so it's actually quite complicated… plenty of work to do."

Hermione frowned at that and stabbed a carrot with an audible *clink*.

"Well, I need a distraction," Julia said, "let's get back to it."

They returned to the lab and set up their stations without speaking, almost as if nothing had changed in the past month. Hermione'd made significant advances in the potions testing, but Bellatrix quickly saw where progress had slowed due to her absence. She resolved to do what she could to bring them back ahead of schedule again. Bellatrix didn't fell much in the mood to say anything, so she kept her mouth shut as the potions bubbled and they took turns chopping, crushing, or grinding. Apparently, Hermione either felt the same way or somehow understood Julia didn't want to speak, and they worked in companionable silence until nearly midnight. As they cleaned up the day's work and Bellatrix noted her results down in the same black journal as before, it felt more and more natural that this was the path she wanted to take.

* * *

The following day, Ginny joined them for breakfast. With the Express scheduled to leave Hogsmeade station later that morning, it would be the last time they saw her until the new year.

"These are for you, Happy Christmas," Ginny said, passing over a wrapped red and gold present for each of them. Hermione's looked like a card, and Julia's was a medium sized box, perhaps a foot across. Hermione opened her moleskin pouch and passed a rectangular gift, obviously a book, back to Ginny.

"Sorry Ginny, I got distracted and I'm still working on your gift," Julia said, sliding down in her seat a bit, "I'll have it for you when you're back from holiday."

"Oh," Ginny said, pausing just a moment too long, "no worries. Happy Christmas, see you next year."

The redhead gave Hermione a hug but as she departed for the main entrance, Hermione stood up again.

"Ginny," she called, walking swiftly after her friend as Ginny turned. They spoke a few words quietly and Ginny's eyes flicked to Julia for a split-second before moving back to Hermione.

"Hi Julia," Neville said, sitting down in Hermione's seat, "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Neville," Julia replied.

He passed a small box to her, and she tested the texture of the wrapping paper under her fingers.

"Go on, open it, but don't turn it over," he said.

Julia looked down at the gift and tore off the wrap, then lifted the lid of the box beneath. A small potted plant greeted her, little more than a green stem and a few leaves with a closed bud at the top. When she pulled it up out of the box though, the leaves rustled a bit and the bud turned towards the lights on the ceiling, unfurling into a beautiful red rose.

"You like it? It closes up at night and opens again every morning," Neville said.

"It's lovely," Bellatrix said, staring at the perfectly shaped rose, "thank you Neville."

"Hello Neville," Hermione said as she returned.

"Happy Christmas Hermione, I grew one for you too. Go on, open it," he said, passing another box to Hermione. As she pulled the pot up out of the box the flower opened and Julia noted its vibrant yellow colour.

"Thank you Neville, it's beautiful," Hermione said.

She reached into her moleskin pouch and produced a gift-wrapped book, which she passed over to Neville.

"Sorry Neville, I still need to wrap yours," Julia said.

Neville didn't seem to mind at all.

"Looking forward to it," he replied, "don't forget to water those, at least once a week. I'll see you both after Christmas."

Neville's gaze lingered on Julia just a second longer than necessary as they said their goodbyes and she forced a smile in response, waving to him as he departed. After finishing up breakfast, Hermione and Bellatrix buttoned up their winter coats and braved the biting cold wind to walk to just beyond the school's wards to apparate to Diagon Alley. Holiday crowds thronged the shops on one of the last shopping days before Christmas. With the screaming children and irate shoppers already annoying her before they'd even set foot in the first store, Bellatrix went on a mission to complete her purchases as quickly as possible. The constant whispers, pointed fingers, and some outright stares at Hermione didn't make things any more comfortable, and Bellatrix frowned her way down the Alley.

For Neville she picked up a set of silver shears, perfect for harvesting reagents, and which would have the dual use of helping with their project. Next, they stopped by Flourish and Blott's; the old bell rang exactly as Julia remembered as they pushed inside and the familiar smell of parchment and leather filled her nostrils.

"Do you know if they have books on contract law?" Julia asked.

"This way," Hermione replied, ignoring a few young wizards pointing in her direction and expertly navigating through the shop, leading Bellatrix to a shelf near the back, "why contract law?"

Bellatrix scanned the spines, pulling a dark blue book triumphantly and passing it to Hermione, who scanned through the first few pages.

"This is for navigating professional sports contracts," Hermione said.

"For Ginny," Julia replied.

"Oh, good idea," Hermione said, her face brightening up. She glanced around the shelves, shuffling over a bit to let another patron pass by.

"So… I can wait outside if you need to buy my gift and have it wrapped," Hermione said, returning the book to Julia.

"Oh, I already know what I'm going to give you," Julia replied, shifting Ginny's gift to carry it under one arm, "I don't need to buy it."

"Really," Hermione said, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes slightly in thought.

"I'm not telling and you'll never guess, so don't bother trying," Julia said.

This was, apparently, the exact wrong thing to say, because the next twenty minutes were a non-stop barrage of guesses and stumped hmm's from the bushy haired muggleborn as Bellatrix made her purchase and waited for the book to be wrapped. The guesses continued out the door and down the street as they hunted for a place to eat that wasn't thronged with shoppers with the same idea.

"Merlin's beard Hermione," Julia said after what was probably the sixtieth guess, "I swear I'm reconsidering staying at school."

"If you told me what it is, you won't have to tolerate my asking anymore," Hermione replied with a smirk.

"I'm not above hexing you, golden girl or not," Julia said.

"All these gawkers can sod off though," she muttered under her breath.

"I probably should have worn a disguise," Hermione muttered back in agreement.

A flash went off in Bellatrix's face and she looked over to see a middle-aged photographer in a brown coat standing next to a somehow familiar middle-aged blonde woman with a purple dress and bright green glasses, a sheet of parchment and a quill hovering next to her. A tendril of smoke curled up from the photographer's camera as he lined up for a second shot of Hermione.

"Honestly Skeeter, I leave school for one day to go Christmas shopping and you're here waiting for me," Hermione said, "are you stalking me?"

Rita Skeeter. Bellatrix remembered her from Hogwarts; they shared a dorm down in the dungeons. She'd started a school newspaper and ran about starting gossip about other students or professors, desperately trying to make a name for herself and gain some respect among the purebloods of their year. She never wrote any stories about _her, _because that would have gotten her stupid face cursed in several times over. Besides, that kind of respect couldn't be earned; either you were brought up properly or you weren't. During her confinement in the sub-vault, Bellatrix had read through several Prophet articles written by Skeeter, and deemed them all functionally worthless.

"A good reporter never reveals her sources, Miss Granger," Skeeter replied, "out for some last-minute shopping? Who are you purchasing a gift for, Harry Potter perhaps? Does Miss Weasley have competition?"

"No comment," Hermione replied, pursing her lips.

Another flash went off and Hermione winced.

"And who is your friend, also a student at Hogwarts?" Skeeter asked, switching to Bellatrix.

"Don't answer, she'll only twist whatever you say," Hermione said.

Rita Skeeter gasped in faux outrage.

"Slander," Skeeter said, pointing a finger at Hermione.

A third flash went off and Bellatrix noticed Hermione blinked a few times and looked a bit disoriented when she opened her eyes.

"No more photos," Julia said, stepping in front of Hermione and holding up a hand in front of the camera, the other tensed to flick her wand out if she needed to.

"It's a public street," the photographer said, "I can take as many photos as I like."

"Maybe, but you won't if you like your camera in one piece," Julia said.

"You can try, but I'll have you arrested," the photographer replied, lining up for another shot.

"You're going to report me, a student, to the Aurors?" Julia asked, "all I have to do is tell them and everyone else who will listen you shouldn't have been trying to sneak pictures of our knickers, you pervy old git."

The camera stayed silent.

"Ohh, this one has some spice in her," Skeeter said with a wolfish grin as she stepped forward, quick-quotes quill already scribbling furiously, "our readers would love to hear about the Golden Girl's new friend. What's your name, my lovely little firecracker?"

"What's that? I hear something buzzing," Bellatrix said, putting a hand to her ear and turning to Hermione, "do you hear a buzzing? It almost sounds like a blood sucking mosquito."

Skeeter's mouth dropped open in shock, and Bellatrix smirked, it was almost too easy.

"How did you.." Skeeter said, "how dare you!"

"Bugger off now, little Skeeter, before you get yourself slapped," Bellatrix said, making a shoo'ing motion with one hand.

"Who are you?" Rita asked, her white face turning a shade of pink where makeup didn't cover.

"Buzz buzz buzz, that's all I hear, someone get me a Skeeter repellent charm," Bellatrix replied loudly, "come on Hermione, let's go."

She grabbed Hermione's arm and side-alonged with her back to the gates of Hogwarts. Hermione stumbled as they landed, bent over with hands on knees.

"Agh, warn me next time," she said, steading herself and shaking off the nauseating effects of side-along.

"Sorry," Julia said, "are you alright?"

Hermione stood up straight took a deep breath and looked around the Scottish countryside, then nodded.

"Better than I was, thank you," she said.

Bellatrix nodded.

"That was impressive; I've never seen anyone get under Skeeter's skin like that," Hermione said, grinning, "mosquito, that's brilliant."

Bellatrix smirked. It was their favourite taunt down in the dungeons.

"You should be careful though, she's going to be after you now," Hermione said, growing serious.

"What's she going to do? More importantly, who is going to believe her? Most of what she writes is complete rubbish," Julia replied. Hermione nodded her agreement as Julia looked around the deserted school grounds.

"I suppose it's the Great Hall for dinner again then," she said.

Hermione nodded again, and they began the trek back to the castle, Hermione mumbling 'mosquito' again under her breath and chuckling.

* * *

"Absolutely not. I'm going to prepare your gift, and it's a surprise," Julia said, pausing between two of the lab tables.

"Alright, but… where are you going to be?" Hermione asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Julia replied.

Hermione huffed.

"You think I really care that badly I can't wait two days to find out what it is?" Hermione asked.

Julia paused.

"Yes," she replied.

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed, then paused, biting her lower lip for a second.

"Are you sure you're alright to be alone?" she asked.

Julia nodded slowly.

"I'm… fine," Julia replied.

"Alright then," Hermione said, pausing at the entrance to the tent, "but if you're not back here by midnight I'm coming to look for you."

"Yes mother," Julia said as she exited the lab. Hermione was worried about her, actually worried. It was a new feeling for Bellatrix, and oddly enough she found it touching. Someone knew she was in pain, and wanted to comfort her. Someone was thinking about her wellbeing.

"_Perhaps she just wants you to help her project along,_" a little voice said in Bellatrix's head, but she quickly pushed it away.

Bellatrix did indeed know exactly what she intended to give to Hermione; it only required parchment and quill. First though, she had something that needed doing, and she shoved all the distracting thoughts out of her mind.

Bellatrix strode with purpose all the way up to the seventh floor, into the Room of Requirement, which prepared for her a writing desk complete with ink, quill, and parchment. She withdrew the unassuming stone from her silk pouch and turned it over three times.

"Lord Voldemort," she said.

The Shadow materialized on the wall near the desk and writhed menacingly, only to recoil slightly as she stalked towards it.

"_I need to phrase the questions carefully, no room for misinterpretation,_" she thought.

"You're going to tell me everything you know about Arithmancy, memory charms, and spell creation," Bellatrix said. The Shadow's only response was to hiss at her in displeasure as she proceeded to ask her first question.


	18. Chapter 18

Harry Potter belongs to JKR

Warning: Nudity, sex

Chapter 18

Red and gold paper fluttered to the floor of the Gryffindor common room as Hermione tore her way through the poorly wrapped box.

"What is it?" Julia asked.

"Chocolates," Hermione replied, somehow managing to keep the disappointment from her voice as she looked over the card from Ron, a picture of Father Christmas popping up out of a large gift box over and over.

It joined the small pile on the coffee table in front of them. From Harry she'd received a coupon for '24 hours of any activity of your choice (subject to approval from Ginny Weasley)', and Ginny'd gifted her a voucher for Madam Malkin's, 'for stylish professional robes once you get into the working world.' Julia'd received a broom servicing kit from Ginny.

A house elf popped into the common room.

"Present for Miss Hermione," it squeaked, handing over a small box and popping out again.

Hermione furrowed her brow as she looked at the small card on the front of the gift.

"It's from Eric Wildy," she said, reading the note, "hope you enjoy these while you're working late."

"_Did he bribe the elf somehow?_" she thought, "_they usually don't interact directly with students._"

She placed the card on the table and quickly unwrapped the box.

"Coffee beans, from Jamaica," she said, recalling how little of the good was exported, "wow."

"You didn't give him anything," Julia said, more of a statement than a question.

Hermione shook her head, bushy hair waving with the motion.

"I barely know him," she replied, "probably should get him something though."

She made a mental note. While Hermione stared at the beans in the clear plastic casing, Julia unwrapped Hermione's gift to her.

"What are these?" the pureblood asked, pulling out a few slips of paper.

"Cinema tickets," Hermione replied with a small smile.

Julia furrowed her brow.

"Is that a muggle thing? What am _I_ supposed to do with them?" Julia asked.

"Well, since we'll be here almost entirely alone today, and I doubt you've ever been to a cinema before?" Hermione asked, to which Julia nodded, "It's a screen in a dark room that shows moving pictures. I figure we could take part in Professor Winthrop's cross-cultural program, and go see one together."

Julia arched a single eyebrow.

"Let me get this straight," Julia said placing the broom servicing kit on the table, "you want me to go with you to muggle London and see moving pictures on a screen? And then we have to write an essay about it?"

Hermione nodded.

"Honestly Hermione, do you get off on schoolwork or something? It's alright, you can tell me, I won't judge," Julia replied.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Look, if you don't want to go that's fine, I just thought it might be a good… thing to do," she said.

"_Please say yes,_" Hermione thought. The thought of spending Christmas Day at Hogwarts depressed her much more than she'd expected it would.

Julia eyed Hermione, then the tickets, and gave a long, drawn out sigh.

"Alright, if you insist," she said, "but you're staying with me the entire time."

Hermione smiled and nodded.

"Of course," she said.

Julia hesitated, then reached into her robes to withdraw her silk pouch with the undetectable extension charms on it. She reached inside and pulled out several pages of parchment bound up together like a long essay.

"Here," she said, handing over the pages, "Happy Christmas."

"_Finally," _Hermione thought.

She accepted the gift and turned to the first page, but it was blank.

"Put your thumbs on it and say your name," Julia said.

"Hermione Granger," Hermione said. Ink flooded the parchment, diagrams, formulae, wand motions and equations.

"It's a spell," Hermione said, studying the parchment, "it's a blending, glamour and transfiguration."

She scanned through to the second and third pages, while Julia waited and watched. Hermione could have asked what the spell was, but there was a certain satisfaction in figuring it out yourself, and she was stubborn. Julia seemed to get it as well, as she stayed silent while Hermione read through. As she turned to the last page, realization struck her; this was no ordinary spell.

"It's incredibly complicated because of this part at the end, it allows you to 'tie off' the spell?" Hermione asked. Julia nodded, a hesitant smile of satisfaction on her face. Hermione smiled back; it was the first time Julia had really smiled since she returned to the lab.

"If I'm reading this correctly, if performed properly, it will maintain itself indefinitely, even when I'm sleeping, and I don't even have to think about it at all," Hermione said, "it even takes a little bit of effort to 'untie' it."

Julia nodded.

"It's for your arm, so you could wear sleeveless dresses or shirts again," Julia said.

Hermione's hand went to her arm, as her thoughts went to the scars beneath them. She'd never considered herself a vain person, but the cursed wounds were ugly, made her ugly. She'd spent some time in the library searching for a spell to cover them up, but any normal glamour would wear off or prevent other spells being cast very well while it was maintained. Eventually she would slip up or have to drop the spell in public, and everyone would know what her skin looked like beneath the sleeve. With the spell Julia just _gave_ to her, she could conceal them indefinitely and only tie off a miniscule portion of her magic as a cost. It was an incredibly valuable and personal gift, and a sense of genuine gratitude swept through her.

"Julia, this is amazing, where did you…?" Hermione asked.

"Found it in a vault one day," Julia replied, "my guess is it's been passed down in my family."

Cinema tickets and the promise of writing an essay seemed incredibly paltry by comparison.

"I have to get you something else," Hermione said.

Julia started to protest, but Hermione cut her off.

"No, I insist," Hermione replied, "I'll think of something."

She returned to reading through the spell.

"It's complicated… and it the larger the area affected the more complicated it is," Hermione muttered, looking over the spell in more detail, "this would take some time to prepare and cast to make sure I don't accidentally give myself an extra appendage."

"I'm sure you'll work it out," Julia replied.

Hermione nodded.

"Not right now though, Professor Winthrop asked me to meet him before he heads home," Hermione said.

"Lunch afterwards?" Julia asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Then we can head into London," she said.

* * *

Hermione knocked on the door of Winthrop's office.

"Come," he said.

After six years unchanged, Hermione still wasn't used to seeing it remodelled after McGonagall moved out.

"Ah, Miss Granger," Winthrop said, folding a piece of parchment and placing it in his satchel, "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas Professor, you wanted to speak with me?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, yes," Winthrop said, "a few things."

"Your mind healer sessions will begin at the start of the new year, if you're still interested," he said, snapping his satchel shut with a click.

Hermione nodded again.

"Yes sir, of course," she said.

"_Even if it's only because the promise of a potions lab post-Hogwarts is too good to pass up,_" Hermione thought, "_and who knows, the sessions might be helpful._"

"Excellent," Winthrop said, "and I noticed you and Miss White are once again taking meals together, I assume you've patched up whatever it was that came between you?"

"Was it that obvious?" Hermione asked.

"I don't notice everything, but I do notice when my most promising students aren't themselves," Winthrop said, "I hope it was nothing serious?"

Hermione debated how much to tell him. Julia was so distraught when she returned to the lab Hermione resolved to not let her be alone for a few days for fear she might hurt herself. She'd never seen anyone so heartbroken, but over the past day or two Julia seemed more like her normal self, if a bit more forlorn and introspective than usual.

"Nothing too concerning," she replied, deciding to keep Julia's personal life private, despite the fact she knew Winthrop wouldn't betray her confidence. The professor smiled.

"Good, and last, professors aren't normally allowed to give gifts to students, to avoid the appearance of favouritism, of course," Winthrop said, affixing a cloth cap and lifting his satchel, "but I thought you would be interested to know I spoke with my father about drafting an amendment to the current proposal for expanding werewolf rights, and he agreed to table the matter at the next Wizengamot session. Happy Christmas."

Hermione felt a grin break out across her face.

"How? I thought he wasn't interested?" Hermione asked.

"Perhaps these times are interesting enough to draw the uninterested into making their mark. We can only hope," Winthrop replied, "I thought I might try my luck, and here we are. There's still a long way to go, and he'll need to see who else supports expansion of rights for werewolves and other beings, and who can be persuaded, but it's a good first step, and it's all thanks to you."

Hermione was flabbergasted.

"Me? I just asked a question. Oh Merlin, that's amazing, is there anything I can do to help?" Hermione asked.

Winthrop chuckled.

"We shall see, Miss Granger," Winthrop said, "for now, have a happy new year, and I truly hope your project is successful in the coming months."

"Thank you sir," Hermione replied, practically beaming, "happy new year."

With a new spring in her step, Hermione quickly made her way to the Great Hall, where the four house tables had been consolidated into one. Only a smattering of students sat at that single table, eating quietly. Collins and McGonagall occupied one end of the head table, the remainder of which remained vacant. Sombre faces greeted Hermione as she spotted Julia and walked to her; the only students still at Hogwarts on Christmas were those who had nowhere else to go.

"I wouldn't get too excited," Julia said as Hermione explained Winthrop's news, "there's always been a great deal of opposition to expanding werewolf rights."

"I know, but at least it's a step in the right direction," Hermione replied.

They finished lunch quickly and returned to the lab to check on four cauldrons simmering on low flame.

"How many more hours is it?" Julia asked.

"Twelve," Hermione replied, double checking the strength of the fire, "another four salamander eggs each should do it; we can catch a matinee."

"You're sure you want to go today?" Julia asked.

"Why not, there'll be less people," Hermione replied.

"_And I desperately need to forget it's Christmas and I'm not with my parents,_" she thought.

After adding the fuel to the dragon's mouths and triple checking the settings, Hermione pulled out her moleskin pouch and rummaged around for a pair of jeans. Julia had slightly wider hips than her but a small bit of transfiguration took care of that.

"Try those on," Hermione said, passing them to the other girl.

Julia wrinkled her nose as she held the trousers in one hand.

"Don't muggles wear skirts or dresses?" she asked.

"Yes, but it's not the season for that," Hermione replied, feeling around the pouch again and pulling out a sweatshirt and a pair of sweaters, "try those on as well."

"Can I at least wear my boots?" Julia asked.

Hermione smirked and nodded.

A few minutes later and Julia emerged from the tent, sans robes and now dressed in muggle attire.

"_Not bad at all for my first try at altering clothing, if I do say so myself_," Hermione thought as she observed the fit. The legs looked a tad short but with Julia's boots that wouldn't be a problem.

"These are so bloody uncomfortable," Julia said, running her hands over the jeans.

"They take some getting used to, but then they're the best thing in the world, trust me," Hermione said.

Julia snorted.

"This had better be worth it," she said.

The two threw on overcoats, scarves, and wool hats, and headed out past the wards to apparate to Diagon. From there, Hermione led them through the Leaky Cauldron and into muggle London. The chilly December air cut at their exposed skin as they exited, and Julia grew quiet as they departed the wizarding world; Hermione surmised the pureblood probably didn't have much experience in muggle London. Hermione smirked to herself as she caught her attempting to stare at the buildings around them without looking like she was staring.

"_This cross-cultural initiative of Wintrhop's is an excellent idea; there's so much to learn even just walking about,_" Hermione thought, and she found her respect for the Defence professor increasing just a bit more.

Being Christmas, the streets were mostly deserted except for one or two last minute shoppers, but the busses still ran, and Hermione led them to a nearby stop where they waited a few minutes before boarding a double decker. Coins clinked as Hermione dropped them into the machine, which then spit out a pair of tickets. The bus already started rumbling away by the time they took their seats.

"It's a smoother ride than the Knight Bus, I'll give them that," Julia said quietly as Hermione sat next to her. Hermione merely nodded; she'd never ridden the Knight Bus. She led them to a cinema she knew well from her summers and pre-Hogwarts days, located inside a mall. Most of the shops were shuttered, but a few remained open, the supermarket for last minute purchases, and one or two restaurants. The cinema sat on the top floor, and they rode the escalators all the way up.

Hermione checked over the showings listed on the glowing red text above the ticket booths. It came down to a world war two movie or one about Shakespeare.

"_No contest, really,_" Hermione thought, "_the Shakespeare film starts in about twenty minutes, perfect._"

"Get the two pm showing for Shakespeare," Hermione said.

"Me?" Julia asked, a look of indignation across her face.

Hermione smiled.

"You have the vouchers," she replied.

Julia eyed the ticket booth and the bored Asian teenager manning the desk, steeled herself, and stepped up. With the vouchers scanned, Julia returned to Hermione and passed her one of the stubs.

"I hate you," she said.

Hermione laughed.

"Come on, it wasn't that bad, and it wouldn't be much of a cultural exchange if you just followed me around all day," she said.

Julia shook her head as they made their way to the concession stand. Hermione paid far too much for salted popcorn and a coke, and they found their way to 'Hall 3' and settled into the empty theatre.

"Do I want to know why the floor is sticky?" Julia asked as they discarded their outerwear onto the seats around them.

"Spilled soda probably," Hermione replied, sitting down with a squeak of the seat.

"_Okay, two more hours I'm not thinking about my parents are in Sydney and don't even know they're missing Christmas with me,_" Hermione thought as the lights dimmed.

Julia crossed her ankles up on the seat in front of her and tossed a piece of popcorn into her mouth.

"Alright muggle invention, amaze me," she said.

* * *

Hermione and Julia exited the cinema a little over two hours later, and although it was still well before dinner, the sun set early this time of year and the windows of the mall were already dark.

"Well, what did you think?" Hermione asked as they descended the escalators. She downed the rest of the soda and tossed it into one of the bins bookending the escalator.

"I still say it would be better if the characters could talk back to us," Julia replied.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Julia had spent more than half of the movie trying to convince the characters to take one action or another. Hermione had explained it to her twice and then concluded Julia was being deliberately obtuse. Some of her suggestions were humorous, if a bit dark, like when she floated the idea of the female lead murdering the wealthy aristocrat so she'd inherit his money and also be free to marry the male lead. Luckily the place was empty except for the two of them or they might have been asked to leave.

"Alright maybe, but what did you think of the story?" Hermione asked.

Julia fell quiet for a moment.

"I think the whole restriction on female actors is silly, is that really how it used to be?" Julia asked.

"That part was true," she said, "most of the rest is just embellished to make a good plot fit into two hours."

"Hmm," Julia said with a thoughtful nod.

"It seemed like those two were destined to be together, but really it was the other way around," Julia replied, "that's what it's like sometimes, when there's a betrothal involved, but at least the playwright found his muse."

"Star-crossed lovers," Hermione said quietly as they exited onto the street and donned their hats.

Julia stayed silent a moment then chuckled.

"As in they would have lived happily ever after, but the stars had other ideas?" she said.

Hermione nodded.

"_Not bad for someone who's never heard of Shakespeare before," _Hermione thought. She somehow doubted Ron, or even Harry, would have put the effort into thinking about or understanding what the phrase meant.

"You know there's a quote that's often attributed to Shakespeare, but he didn't actually say it," Hermione said, breath steaming in street lights, "'tis better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all."

Julia snorted and glowered at the pavement.

Hermione grimaced.

"Sorry," Hermione said, realizing she'd just reminded Julia of her breakup. It seemed the both of them were trying to forget something.

"So, too early for dinner," Julia replied, changing the subject, "what do we do now?"

Hermione thought for a moment, then hit upon an idea.

"I know where we can go, this way," she said, grabbing Julia by the wrist and pulling her down the sidewalk.

Julia responded by quickly catching up to match stride and sliding her arm through Hermione's, pulling her close, whether for warmth or for assurance in muggle London, Hermione wasn't sure. She felt a flutter go through her stomach at the contact, Julia's elbow pressed tight against her side through their heavy clothes.

"_That was odd_," she thought, but passed it off as a side-effect of the concentrated sugar and caffeine concoction she'd just polished off.

Their shadows elongated and shrank as they walked beneath streetlights and past shrubberies and trees lining the road, Julia's heeled boots thunking on concrete sidewalks. Several shuttered clothing shops and eateries arrived in front and departed behind, all closed for the holidays, and the sound of carollers drifted through the air, singing somewhere not too far away, wishing them a Merry Christmas.

"So where are we headed?" Julia asked.

"Cecil's Bakery and Restaurant," Hermione replied, "they're one of the few still open on Christmas. Every year my parents and I used to take a walk to see the carollers and stop by for a hot drink on the way back. Except for last year, that is. I'd get hot chocolate, they'd get eggnog. It's sort of a Granger family tradition."

Hermione fell quiet at that while Julia nodded.

"_At least it _was_ a family tradition._ _Who knows if I'll ever get to drink hot chocolate with them again,_" she thought.

Hermione shook her head. In hindsight, Cecil's ranked among the worst places to go if she wanted to take her mind off missing her parents, but now that she'd suggested it, she'd appear manic if she changed her mind.

They approached the squat restaurant, its lines and corners all decorated with white Christmas lights, from across the road. The blinking green man at the crosswalk imprinted itself on Hermione's retinas in the darkness, but as soon as they approached the walkway leading to the main entrance, the lights of the restaurant fell over them, driving away the darkness. A motley combination of East Asian, Indian, and Jewish families made for brisk business, as it seemed nearly everyone not busy celebrating descended on one of the few open restaurants on the public holiday. Inside the double doors at least a half-dozen customers waited for tables. Hermione steered them to the side of the building, where a serving window had been cut through the wall, long ago. A queue formed leading back to the parking lot behind the restaurant, mostly young people in their twenties, but also a few families with older children. Hermione glanced at them enviously as the two witches took their place at the tail of the queue.

"This had better be worth it," Julia said again, shivering slightly.

"The queue moves fast, and the hot chocolate will warm you up," Hermione replied.

"Eggnog," Julia said, "hot chocolate is for first-years."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but then her brain stuttered a bit. In a way, Julia was right; hot chocolate _was_ a drink for children. But she'd always had hot chocolate when she came to Cecil's on Christmas.

"_This is ridiculous, there's nothing wrong with hot chocolate,_" Hermione thought, "_then again, it's Christmas, and I wouldn't mind a little bit to de-stress somewhat._"

She stepped forward again, the sounds from the kitchen clearly audible; they were third in line.

"_But drinking as a crutch or when you're emotional is bad and you shouldn't do it,_" she thought.

"Evening ladies, what'll it be?" the pudgy middle-aged man wearing a white apron said, ladle at the ready.

"Two eggnogs please," Hermione said, placing a ten-pound note on the counter. The beverages steamed a bit before the plastic caps covered them. She collected her change then showed Julia how to peel open a section of the lid so she could drink. Hermione held the cup in both hands, warming her fingers as they walked past the queue again.

"Okay, let's see what all the fuss is about," Julia muttered as she followed Hermione past the parking lot and took a small sip of the holiday beverage.

Hermione followed suit, the mixture of cream, cinnamon, and some kind of alcohol she couldn't identify hugging her throat as it went down and warmed her insides. Julia looked down into her cup took another, longer sip.

"Okay yes, that's definitely worth it," Julia said, "we might have to make this a weekly thing."

Hermione smiled.

"Glad you like it," she said, taking another warm sip.

As they walked and drank, Hermione quickly started feeling the effects of the alcohol; it had been several hours since lunch and her stomach was mostly empty, but the eggnog filled her up quick. The streetlights grew farther apart, and they wandered aimlessly down residential sidewalks as her thoughts grew fuzzy. The moon, nearly half-full, lit their way where the street lights didn't. Blinking Christmas lights outlined more houses than not, but they did nothing to brighten Hermione's spirit. They passed a few carollers or families visiting neighbours as they walked, and Hermione distinctly felt the lack of contact on her arm and side, missing the feel of Julia's arm through hers from earlier that evening. She glanced over to see Julia staring up in between street lights, and followed her gaze to see Orion the Hunter, high in the sky.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Hermione asked.

Julia sighed, a melancholy, almost hopeless, expression on her face, still staring up at the stars.

"Just… wondering about my place in all this," she replied, gesturing to the heavens.

Hermione nodded. What does one say to that, anyway? She reached over and patted Julia on the shoulder.

"It'll get better," Hermione said, but the words sounded hollow even to herself.

"_Don't we make a fine pair?_" Hermione thought, "_well, misery loves company."_

They walked a little bit more, when suddenly Hermione stopped and looked around. She recognized the neighbourhood; her aimless wandering had brought her to a place she knew quite well.

"_Idiot,_" Hermione thought to herself.

Julia turned around a few steps ahead of her.

"Tired?" she asked.

"No, my house is just up there," Hermione replied.

"Your-" Julia said, then turned around to where Hermione pointed. The dark building and overly long grass contrasted with the Christmas decorations and well-kept lawns on all the lots around it.

"What do you want to do?" Julia asked as she turned back to Hermione.

"_Came this far, might as well go all the way,_" Hermione thought.

She answered by walking up the familiar path, then thought better of going in the front door.

"_There's no way I'm ready for that,_" she thought.

Instead, she veered left and walked through the long grass to pause at the fence, rummaging around her pouch for the key to unlock the padlock. It still turned cleanly with a click, coming away and granting them access. The patio furniture sat out in the back yard exactly as she'd left them, a bit dirty perhaps from being outdoors for over a year, but still in good shape.

She checked for water before realizing it all would be frozen anyway, cast a warming charm and a drying charm on the seat, then sat down in a padded chair at the glass table. Julia dragged a chair around next to her and similarly warmed and dried it, then sat down next to her. The two sipped their rapidly cooling drinks and stared up at the stars and the half-moon together, Julia resting her boots on the bottom of the table and tipping her chair back.

"Sometimes I wonder if this isn't the first Christmas of ten, or twenty, that I spend alone," Hermione said, "I mean, not alone, thank you for spending Christmas with me, but… you know what I mean."

Julia nodded.

"I don't have anyone to spend Christmas with, not really," Julia said, draining her cup, "doubt I ever will."

Hermione was about to reply immediately with something like 'don't say that,' but caught herself before she said anything.

"_I'm sure she's still raw over the breakup,_" Hermione thought.

"Julia, if we're actually able to bring my parents back, I promise you can celebrate with us every year," she said, "actually, even if we can't, we can still spend Christmas together."

The sound of laughter drifted over the fence from a Christmas party somewhere else in the neighbourhood.

"_Harbinger of envy_," Hermione thought, giving name to the sound as the feeling rushed through her chest.

"Are you saying that because you feel sorry for me, because you don't want to be alone, or because you actually enjoy spending time together?" Julia asked.

"A little bit of all three?" Hermione replied, "Actually I feel sorry for both of us. Nobody should have to spend Christmas alone. And I suppose that goes doubly so when you've been through… a bad breakup. And obviously you're enjoyable to be around; I wouldn't have asked you for the cross-cultural initiative otherwise."

Julia nodded and they went back to staring at the sky again.

"_Will I be coming back here to sit at this table for another decade, two?_" Hermione thought as her vision started blurring, obscuring the stars.

"You promise you'll spend Christmas with me? No matter what?" Julia asked quietly, breaking her train of thought, "I'll hold you to it."

"Of course," Hermione replied without hesitation.

"You won't be celebrating with Weasley?" Julia asked.

"_Oh right, Ron. That's embarrassing,_" Hermione thought, fingering her cup, "_must be the alcohol. Maybe we could all celebrate together? Oh who knows..._"

"Come to think of it, why aren't you with him now?" Julia asked.

Hermione made a grumbling noise as fresh annoyance swept through her.

"There was an incident at the Burrow a few days ago," Hermione replied, "they're keeping it family only this year, which I can understand. And Harry's been called into some Ministry thing, why they had to do it on Christmas I have no idea but I'm sure we'll find out; the three of us plus Ginny are having dinner tomorrow night at his place."

"Speaking of which, I asked Ginny to ask Harry if you could come as well, and he said yes," Hermione added.

"What?" Julia asked, letting the chair land on all four legs again, "you want me to have dinner with the four of you? Won't that be a bit awkward? I would assume you'd want to.. you know."

Hermione was about to inform Julia that she did not, in fact, know, when she realized what Julia was implying.

"Be intimate?" Hermione asked.

"I was going to say shag," Julia replied.

Hermione smirked.

"That'll happen later," Hermione replied.

"_Maybe,_" she thought.

"I don't know…" Julia said.

"Well, you don't have to if you don't want to, but tell me honestly, would you rather sit around Hogwarts on your own or have dinner with us?" Hermione asked.

"Alright, alright, I was going to say yes, at least let me pretend to be demure," Julia replied, glancing to Hermione and suppressing a grin, "Just try to keep your hands off each other at dinner."

"I'll get Ron to behave, Harry and Ginny are another story," Hermione said.

"I'm sure we can think of something," Julia said.

They returned to stargazing. Hermione didn't really feel the need to give voice to her feelings or thoughts, and apparently Julia felt perfectly fine sitting in silence, so there they stayed, staring up together into the cold December sky.

* * *

"This was a bad idea," Julia said as they walked down the street in Muggle London, naked bottle of white wine held in two hands.

"I shouldn't be there, you're the Golden Trio, I'm going to be completely out of place," she continued.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ginny's going to be there too and you're friends with both of us," Hermione said, "Harry's just like anyone else. Maybe not just like anyone else, but he's not some mythical creature, he's just… just Harry."

Julia puffed out a breath. Apparently she didn't believe her.

"You're getting all worked up for nothing, trust me," Hermione added, "besides, isn't there some pure blood rule about not showing up for a holiday invitation after you've accepted?"

"It's really more of a guideline," Julia muttered.

She nearly tripped as Hermione turned onto Grimmauld Place, but luckily managed to keep hold of the bottle.

"If you really don't want to go, I'm not going to force you, but Harry did say he was looking forward to seeing you," Hermione said.

"He said that?" Julia asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Why does he want to see me?" Julia asked, glancing around at the buildings lining the street.

Hermione rolled her eyes. If she didn't know better, she'd think Julia was apprehensive about meeting Harry again.

"_I suppose it __**would**__ be somewhat surreal for a relative outsider like Julia to have dinner with the three of us plus Ginny,_" Hermione thought.

When she'd asked Ginny if Julia could come, she'd been concerned about Julia being by herself, but the more she thought about it, the more she thought Julia might genuinely get along with them.

"_It could be good to have a friend who wasn't in the war,_" she thought, "_it might help us put it behind us, after all._"

She glanced around the street to make sure nobody was watching them.

"Maybe because you're helping with the project, or you're on the quidditch team, or maybe it's just because you didn't fall all over yourself when met him for the first time," Hermione replied, "give me your hand."

The pureblood took a hand off the bottle and Hermione laced her fingers through Julia's, nearly wincing at how cold they were from being exposed to the night air. The house appeared from in between #10 and #14, unfolding out of empty space as they passed through the wards. Hermione held Julia's hand for a moment longer to try and warm it up a bit before releasing it to rap the brass knocker.

Harry, wearing a maroon sweater, dark hair dishevelled as always, opened the door and smiled, stepping aside to let them into the well-lit foyer. Hermione embraced him in a tight hug as she passed by.

"What's this?" she asked, holding up his hand where he wore a silver ring with a deep blue stone set on it. As she watched, the stone shifted colour from dark blue to turquoise.

"It's a mood ring, part of a matching set," Harry replied, "my Christmas gift to Ginny."

"And it actually shows your mood?" Hermione asked.

"Hers, actually," Harry replied.

She heard a shuffle in the hall behind and looked over to see Ron approaching, and she dropped Harry's hand to take two large steps and wrap her arms around her boyfriend, standing on tiptoe to hold him tightly. She tilted her head back for a kiss, and his lips pressed tight against hers as she closed her eyes.

"Happy Christmas Ron," she whispered, holding him a bit longer, one ear on the conversation behind her.

"Thank you for inviting me," Julia said, "please accept this gift."

"Thank you Julia, you don't need to be so formal," Harry said, "we're all friends here."

A soft pop heralded the arrival of Kreacher.

"Kreacher, this is Julia White, she's a guest tonight, and you're to treat her accordingly," Harry said.

Hermione opened her eyes and pulled back slightly from Ron to see Julia staring wide-eyed at Kreacher, who merely paused and looked back at Julia, almost studying her.

"Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black," the aged elf said, bowing so low to Julia his nose almost touched the ground. He proceeded to collect their coats, hats, and the bottle of wine, then vanished again.

"That was odd," Ron said, "I don't think I've ever seen Kreacher so polite, to anyone."

"Maybe all my suggestions are finally getting through," Harry said.

"Maybe," Hermione said, "but Julia's pureblood, so that might have something to do with it."

"He never bowed to me like that," Ron muttered.

"Perhaps I'm just more his type, I _am_ prettier than you after all, Weasley," Julia chimed in with a playful grin.

Hermione smirked.

She stared around at the nearly completely remodelled and furnished interior and marvelled at how better lighting, a fresh coat of paint, and some colour completely changed the mood of the house and made it more like a welcoming home.

Harry led the way into the remodelled kitchen where Ginny sat in quiet conversation with Andromeda Tonks, while little Teddy sat in a high chair feeding himself what looked like bits pasta mixed with veggies. Rather, he was trying to feed himself, and getting about as much food in his mouth as all over his face and bib. Andromeda didn't seem to be fussed at all by the mess as she nodded from her seat, and Hermione found the scene rather endearing.

"_Wonder how long it will be before Harry and Ginny have little toddlers of their own running about,_" she thought.

"Hello Mrs. Tonks, I didn't know you and Teddy were going to be here," Hermione said.

"The cottage is more or less rebuilt, but Harry invited us to stay over the holidays so there's less travel and disruption involved for Teddy," Andromeda replied, "it's good to see you again, Hermione."

"It's good to see you too," Hermione replied, leaning in close for a partial embrace, "this is my friend, Julia White. Julia, this is Andromeda Tonks and Harry's godson Teddy. Andromeda helped us during the war."

Julia took a small step forward, eyes locked on Andromeda.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Hermione could practically feel the tension rolling off of Julia and gave her arm a squeeze to reassure her.

"Likewise," Andromeda replied, sitting down again.

Ginny moved a place to let Harry sit across from Andromeda and next to Teddy, while Ron took the seat next to Andromeda, steering Hermione into the seat next to him. That left Julia to sit across from Hermione and next to Ginny. Julia rummaged around in her pouch before pulling out the gift-wrapped present for the redhead.

"Happy belated Christmas, Ginny," Julia said, passing it over.

"Thanks Julia," Ginny said, "a book?"

Julia nodded.

Kreacher chose that moment to appear with platters of steaming vegetables, potatoes, and roast ham.

"Dinner is served," he said, levitating the platters into the centre of the table, then snapping his fingers for already filled wine glasses to appear and settle in front of each of them.

Everyone tucked in and Hermione, though inwardly cringing at the thought of eating something prepared by a house elf, swallowed her stubbornness and forced herself to think of how happy Kreacher would be she enjoyed what she ate. She couldn't be certain, but she thought at least one of the dishes, roast pheasant, had been prepared by Mrs. Weasley, and she filled her plate with more of the fragrant meat. They ate in silence for a while and despite her reservations, she found the meal succulent and delicious.

"So," Harry said, "Ron and I start in the first week of January."

Aurors, the both of them, Hermione could scarcely believe it.

"Congratulations, I'm so proud of both of you," Hermione said, smiling at Harry.

"Thanks," Harry said, "Ginny and I were talking, and we want to have a new year's celebration before we start."

Hermione nodded. It made sense, but she dreaded the crowd that would be sure to form around the three of them.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked.

"Well, I was thinking we could make another trip to Cathedral, the club Ron and I went to last month," Harry said.

Hermione looked to Ron, who made eye contact briefly then examined his potatoes with more attention than he'd ever paid his schoolwork.

"It was Ginny's idea, actually," Harry said, and Hermione turned back to him, then to Ginny.

"I'm curious," Ginny replied with a half-shrug.

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. Clubbing was definitely not her thing. In her mind's eye it was all preened up people trying to be something they weren't, with gyrating bodies and loud music and liquor and drugs and very much the opposite of responsible behaviour. Teddy interrupted her train of thought as he burbled happily while Andromeda quietly fed him a spoonful of mashed carrots, perhaps to ensure at least something got in his mouth.

"I think Ron would be a lot more comfortable if you were there; it's in muggle London after all," Harry said.

"Hey, I can handle myself," Ron interrupted.

"but honestly if you don't want to go it's okay, we'll find something else to do," Harry continued without missing a beat, "what's important is we're all together. We just think it would be good to relieve some stress and not have to worry about the press for a change."

"_He's not wrong about that,_" Hermione thought.

She chewed her lip in thought. If she declined, Ginny might convince Harry and Ron to go another time, and perhaps not even invite her. It would be safer if she went with Ron… who knew who he might meet out at a muggle nightclub. But… going meant she would have to get dressed up and dance.

"Julia, would you like to go?" Ginny asked, and Hermione turned to her new friend.

Julia, who'd kept quiet to this point, looked up, almost startled.

"Me?" Julia asked.

Ginny nodded.

"Hermione mentioned you'd just been through a bad breakup, and this seems like exactly the sort of thing you'd need," Ginny said, seemingly helpful, but Hermione caught an undercurrent of scheming behind her words.

"_What's she playing at?_" Hermione thought as she eyed Ginny carefully.

"You want me to go with you to muggle London?" Julia asked.

"Sure, why not?" Ginny asked, almost challenging.

"_Ginny's trying to see if Julia's so prejudiced, she won't visit muggle London?_" Hermione thought, as she recalled their excursion the day before, "_well, she's got another thing coming._"

Julia held Ginny's gaze for a second, then nodded.

"Alright," she said, then went back to her dinner while Hermione smiled inwardly with pride.

Ginny made the slightest, almost imperceptible, victory smirk then looked back to Hermione.

"_Bugger_," Hermione thought, her internal smugness evaporating as she suddenly realized she didn't want to be the party pooper.

"_Seems Ginny had more than one thing on her mind with that little invitation for Julia,_" Hermione thought. Hermione felt her lips narrow into a thin line at being outmanoeuvred by the redhead.

"Fine, I'll go," Hermione said.

Broad grins broke across Ron, Harry and Ginny's faces, while Julia only gave her a side glance before returning to her food.

"You won't regret it Hermione, we'll have a great time," Ron said.

"We'll certainly try," Hermione said.

"Fantastic," Harry said, "Some of Ron and my teammates will be joining us too; one of them's muggleborn and can help Julia get set up with an outfit."

"Can't I wear this?" Julia asked.

Harry shook his head apologetically.

The idea of Julia trying on outfits with some unknown muggleborn Auror didn't sit well with Hermione.

"Don't worry Julia, I'll go with you," Hermione said, "fairly certain I don't own anything clubworthy either."

"Brilliant, that's settled," Harry said, "there's one more thing I wanted to talk about, before dessert. Julia, Andromeda, you'll have to excuse us for a moment."

Harry led the way out of the kitchen and Hermione followed along, sparing an over the shoulder glance to see Julia draining her entire glass before shifting seats to sit across from Andromeda.

"So, how do you know Hermione?" she heard Andromeda ask as the door closed behind her.

Harry led them to the sitting room where they gathered around a modern looking coffee table. She took the couch where Ron sat beside her and put an arm about her shoulder, while Harry and Ginny sat in chairs adjacent and opposite.

"Alright, there's something we need to do before we start working as Aurors," Harry said.

"We?" Hermione asked.

"As in, the three of us," Harry said, "you know the goblins have been after us because of the break-in at Gringotts. We need to apologise to them before Ron and I officially join."

"Apologise? For saving them from Voldemort?" Ron asked, and Hermione felt his arm tighten about her, "of all the ungrateful… always trying to swing a deal, aren't they?"

Harry held up his hands.

"Believe me, I've been through this with Kingsley already," Harry said, "there's a lot of politics happening behind the scenes, and technically we did violate the law. Bottom line, we have to apologise for breaking in, or we can't join the Aurors. And it has to be public, which means the press are going to be there."

"That's bollocks," Ron said, and Hermione found herself agreeing with him.

"What if we refuse?" she asked.

Harry sighed.

"The case gets sent to the ICW for arbitration, and if we lose that, and Kinglsey assures me we will, we get sent to Azkaban for a few years," Harry said.

Ron blinked and shifted in his seat.

"Right, when's the apology happening?" he asked, immediately switching gears.

Harry chuckled.

Hermione didn't like the idea of apologising, not in the least because it would be admitting wrongdoing. Who knew what that could lead to? It was the primary reason why she hadn't apologised thus far.

"Is there any other way?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head.

"Percy's been on the case essentially since the battle, this is the best we're going to get," Harry replied.

"Percy? Bloody hell, he never mentioned anything to me about it," Ron said, turning to Ginny, "did he say anything to you?"

"Not a word," Ginny replied, shaking her head.

"Kingsley was all over him," Harry said, "the negotiations were very sensitive. He probably threatened Perce with all sorts of repercussions if word got out."

"Is this what you were doing yesterday?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded and huffed in exasperation.

"Yes, the goblins decided they wanted to have the final negotiations on Christmas of all days," Harry said, "probably to spite us."

"Hang on, why just you and not the three of us?" Ron asked.

Harry raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

"Chosen One," he replied.

"All we have to do is get up on a stage in front of a few reporters and say we're sorry for breaking into Gringotts," Hermione said, "and that'll be the end of it? We'll be able to use the bank again?"

"And for breaking a bunch of stuff, and stealing the dragon, but yes, that's all," Harry said.

"Well… I guess it won't be so bad, and we _did_ break in, even if it was for a good reason," Hermione said.

"I don't like it mate but if it's that or Azkaban, it's not really much of a choice," Ron said.

"Yeah," Harry said, "think that's sort of the point."

They were all silent for a moment until Hermione spoke up again.

"When's it scheduled?" Hermione asked.

"Next week, New Year's Eve," Harry replied, confirming he'd assumed they'd agree.

"And then it's clubbing afterwards, no press, I get it now," Hermione said, "you could have just said so in the first place."

Harry nodded.

"Yeah, maybe," he said, pausing for a moment.

"Should we get back to the others?" Harry asked, "I'm pretty sure Julia thought Andromeda was going to eat her."

Hermione smirked and nodded. Andromeda Tonks could be quite intimidating if you didn't know her well.

They filed back into the kitchen and Hermione caught a flash of relief on Julia's face as they re-entered.

"Kreacher," Harry said, and the elf popped in, "let's have dessert."

Kreacher snapped his fingers, and plates of chilled tiramisu appeared. Hermione took a testing bite, and then immediately took another one as the rum filled cake all but melted on her tongue.

"Kreacher this is delicious," Hermione said to a chorus of agreeing murmurs.

"Master Harry's friend Granger is too kind," Kreacher said.

"_He didn't even try to insult me,_" Hermione thought, "_maybe he really is getting better._"

They finished dessert and another bottle of wine, with Andromeda refusing a second glass. It was about the time that Teddy started getting cranky about an hour past his bedtime that they finished up, with Andromeda and Teddy heading upstairs to the first guest room.

"Think we're going to head to bed as well," Harry said, "you're more than welcome to stay the night."

Hermione noted one of Ginny's hands was already in Harry's lap; they probably wanted to get upstairs as quickly as possible.

"You'll be alright finding your way back by yourself?" Hermione asked as she turned to Julia.

"I'm pretty sure I can find my way back to Hogwarts," Julia replied.

"Yes, don't worry about me, Granger," she said, her eyes flicking to Ron for an instant, "Harry, thank you for having me, dinner was lovely. Mind if I use the floo?"

Chairs scraped as they stood up.

"Of course not," Harry said, leading the way to the living room, "thanks for coming Julia, see you on new years."

Julia gave them all a wave before vanishing in a burst of green flame; Hermione thought she might have caught her glancing over her shoulder as she went but she couldn't be sure. The four of them headed upstairs, pausing at the second guest room.

"Right, I guess we'll see you tomorrow," Harry said.

"Night," Ron said. He ducked into the bedroom and all but pulled Hermione in after him before closing the door. Hermione heard a muffled giggle from down the hall.

"_Silencio,_" Ron said, cutting off all sound from outside the room.

"Merlin's beard, I need to not think about that," he said. He looked to Hermione and she took her cue, stepping forward and up on tiptoe to wrap her arms about his shoulders and kiss him full on the lips, the taste of the wine on both their breaths. His wand clattered to the floor as she felt him pull her tight to him, returning the kiss hard before pulling back for air.

"I missed you so much," he said.

"Me too," she replied.

"_Liar,_" she thought to herself, "_you've barely given him a thought in the last three months._"

A flurry of action saw both their shoes and sweaters on the floor as they shuffled towards the bed until Hermione felt it at the back of her knees and sat down. Ron pushed her back, pinning her, and untucked her shirt to slip his hand across her abdomen, her stomach tightening up in reflex. She slid her hands up his back as she let him explore her mouth with his tongue, and they kissed like that for a few minutes until Ron pulled back, drawing her up to follow him, and reached around beneath her shirt.

Hermione grinned internally as she felt his frustration grow as the clasp of her bra stubbornly remained shut while he twisted and pulled.

"_Alohamora,_" he growled, and the clasp sprang open, along with Hermione's mouth.

"That's cheating!" she said.

"_Impressive wandless magic though_," she thought.

"It worked, didn't it," he replied, now sliding his hands all the way up and down her naked back before coming around the front and lifting the loosened undergarment higher. He kissed her again as he ran his hands over her now exposed breasts, and Hermione felt herself unconsciously categorizing the odd sensation of his fingers teasing her nipples.

"_I probably shouldn't be thinking about this so much,_" she thought as she ran her fingers through the hair on the back of his head.

At that thought though, of course, her mind started flying through the things that were happening, even though she told it to stop, it persisted as if she'd only spurred it on.

"_Heart rate increase, blood rushing to skin, I'm probably blushing,_" she thought as her socks came off, "_nipples hardening, that's a reaction to tactile stimulation. Is it odd I'm wondering if my tongue tastes any good?_"

Ron started pulling at her shirt and Hermione's eyes widened.

"Leave my shirt on," she said, and Ron's eyes flicked to her arm for an instant before he nodded. She slowly pulled her shirt off one arm and over her head, leaving the other sleeve fully on while she worked her bra free.

His shirt was next, landing in a pile on the floor and they came together until he shucked off his trousers. She glanced down to briefly see his boxers tented with his erection before he pressed down on her and started grinding against her private area. Even through her jeans she could feel it pressing into her groin. He pulled at her trouser button and she helped him pull them off before they crashed together again.

"_Bit of arousal, expected there would have been more_," she thought as she ran her fingers up and down his back and he kissed her neck.

She'd read some racy novels of course, late at night, and the descriptions there would sometimes make her wet almost to the point of dripping, but there was nothing like that now.

"_Am I nervous?_ _ I suppose I'm a bit nervous,_" she thought as he moved to her ear, "_worrying about it definitely isn't going to help, Hermione, stop worrying!_"

Predictably, her thoughts immediately went into a spiral of worrying she didn't know what she was doing and trying figure out why she wasn't getting aroused, and wondering if Ron realized.

"_This isn't working, why isn't it working?_" she thought, trying to will her body to be ready for sex.

Ron rolled off her again and pulled off his boxers, and she couldn't help but glance down at his cock, throbbing and fully erect with a bit of liquid at the tip. Could she really take all of that into her?

"_Nope, that's not going inside me,_" she thought with dawning realization.

He was on top of her again, hands starting to tug at the waistband of her knickers.

"Ron," she said, mid-kiss, "Ron stop."

Ron froze at the tone of her voice.

"What?" he said into her mouth.

"I'm not ready," she said, "I'm not ready, for this."

He pushed himself up and for a split-second, she saw frustration cross his face, but he hid it quickly.

"Alright, what do you want to do then?" he asked, only a thin strip of fabric between his manhood and her soft folds.

She swallowed and took a steadying breath.

"I don't know," she replied, "umm, start by getting off me."

He sighed and rolled over, and she felt the mood draining as surely as the cool temperature of the room sucked the warmth from her now uncovered body. He pursed his lips, choosing his words, she knew.

"I've been thinking about you every day, for months," Ron said, "do you?"

"Of course," Hermione replied.

_Liar._

"Okay, you're not ready to go all the way," he said, "alright then, what do you want to do?"

Hermione hesitated. What _did_ she want to do?

"I'm not sure, I just know I don't want to… have intercourse," she said.

"_Yes, that sexiest of all words in the Oxford English dictionary, well done Hermione_," she thought.

He sighed heavily and rolled onto his back, folding his hands behind his head.

"What are we even doing?" he asked, looking up at the ceiling.

"I don't know," Hermione replied, sounding lame even to herself.

He shook his head and continued to stare up at the ceiling.

"_He's_ _probably trying to avoid thinking about Harry and Ginny,_" she thought, "_I almost feel sorry for him, of course he'd thought we were going to have sex, why wouldn't he?_"

She glanced down at his cock, still almost entirely hard despite the mood having nearly completely soured.

"_I need to do something, or this is going to be a complete disaster,_" she thought.

"I have an idea," she said, rolling out of bed and wincing as her bare feet hit the cold floor.

Hermione, resolving to salvage what she could after already nearly ruining what should have been an amazing night, walked over to one of the piles of clothing to pull out her wand. It wasn't any easy task with her shirt hanging off one arm, but she managed.

"_Deturpant lubrico,_" she said, pointing her wand at her opposite hand. A clear, slick, and greasy substance sprayed out of the tip of her wand, and she placed her wand back on the pile of clothing. Hermione rubbed her hands together awkwardly, trying to keep her shirt sleeve from sliding down as she walked back to the bed to straddle one of Ron's thighs. He watched her carefully the whole way.

She leaned forward and ran a slick palm across the underside of his warm shaft and was rewarded with a shudder going through Ron's entire body, and a soft moan from his lips. She smirked.

"_Okay, that worked," _she thought as she repeated the gesture, "_what do I even do? Simulate a vagina, and sex, that should do the trick._"

She pulled her sleeve back as far a she dared and took hold of the base of his cock with one hand and started running the other up and down the length.

"_It really is an odd mix of soft and hard, very warm to the touch,_" she noted, "_Hermione Granger, she can recite Shakespeare all day but somehow manages to sound cold and clinical even to herself, while giving a handjob, no less._"

Ron's eyes rolled back in his head and he spread his legs a bit more as she kept going, wet squelching noises filling the room in a steady rhythm.

"_I should probably be enjoying this, am I supposed to enjoy doing this?" _she thought as she continued sliding her hand up and down his shaft,_ "I suppose I enjoy that he's enjoying it, but honestly it's not really doing anything for me._"

"Faster," Ron mumbled, "please."

"_Wonder how long this is supposed to take_," she thought, increasing the pace, but just as she did, a spurt of white liquid shot up into the air, narrowly missing her nose.

"Don't stop!" Ron said, and she quickly recovered and kept pumping as white goo spurted onto Ron's stomach and dripped down between her fingers.

"_It just keeps coming!_" she thought as more continued leaking out, "_oh, I guess that's why it's called what it's called._"

"Okay, okay, stop," Ron said, breathless, "wow."

She looked down at her hands, covered in spunk, then glanced around for a towel.

"Oh, hang on," Ron said, rolling out of bed and retrieving his wand. He waved it over her hands and vanished up the mess rather efficiently, then did the same for himself.

"Merlin's balls Hermione, that was amazing," he said, collapsing back into bed, "Wow… okay, what do you want me to do?"

"I-, I'm okay," Hermione said, "actually a bit tired. The wine, maybe. Can we just sleep?"

He looked at her for a moment.

"You're sure?" he asked, "you haven't had a turn."

Hermione nodded, and Ron smiled.

"That _was_ pretty amazing," she said.

"_Well, perhaps amazing is too strong a word," _she thought, "_interesting, perhaps._"

"Long as you're alright," he said.

Hermione nodded again.

"Just tired," she said, "you really liked it?"

He looked at her like she was mad for a moment, then nodded vigorously.

"Seriously fantastic, you sure you've never done that before?" he asked.

Hermione snickered and failed to suppress a smile as she felt a small blush come to her cheeks.

She pulled her shirt back over her head while Ron retrieved his boxers, and they came together under the covers. She nestled close to him, his warmth somehow reassuring, and he was out within two minutes. Hermione stayed awake for nearly an hour afterwards, listening to Ron's light snores and replaying their tryst over and over in her mind, trying to figure out where she'd gone wrong. Her thoughts whirled as she recalled the taste of lips and tongue, the sensation of her fingers around his warm shaft and sticky juices dripping over her hands, and his hidden disappointment at the lack of sex, until she too eventually fell asleep.

* * *

A/N: Bellatrix is one of the stars in the constellation Orion.


	19. Chapter 19

Warning: Violence, driving under the influence, drug abuse

Harry Potter belongs to JKR

Chapter 19

The green flames died down as Theo departed through the floo and Draco's hand leapt to his pocket, seeking the film roll canister. He all but stabbed his fingernail down into the powder and snorted it up first one nostril, then repeated the action for the other.

"_Merlin's beard that feels good,_" he thought as he took a few deep breaths and wiped his nose with his thumb. He'd been holding off until Theo departed before giving in; the last thing he needed was another lecture.

Over Christmas dinner, Theo informed him he would depart for Italy in the spring, once the weather started warming. He didn't ask Draco to come again, especially as Mother literally sat across the table from them, but the timing was right around when Draco's probation finished, and the invitation was already on the table. Over the entire meal, the baby, the child Mary carried, consumed the entirety of Draco's thoughts. Truly, it'd consumed the almost the entirety of his waking thoughts since the day he found out, and a fair portion of his non-waking thoughts as well, evidenced by the number of times he'd woken to unsettling dreams. He knew Theo knew he was distracted, but thankfully his friend didn't press the point. Mother, more stoned than he'd ever seen her, didn't notice at all. Indeed, she'd barely said a word all dinner.

Draco returned to the dining room and picked up a small plate of scones to carry to his room. He paused at the door and observed his mother for a moment. Draco just watched her silently, sitting at the table, smouldering joint in one hand, staring off into space. Absently, she took another drag and held it, then blew the smoke up into the air, the motion all but automatic now.

"_At least she's not drinking 'essence of tranquility'_," Draco thought, departing the dining room and heading upstairs, his footsteps echoing on the bare floors.

Alone, his thoughts again turned to Mary and what he was going to do about the baby. Several times he'd considered going back and ending the pregnancy, but deep down he knew he didn't have it in him to follow through with the deed. That left either abandoning her and the child after his probation was up, or bringing Mary in on the wizarding world to raise the child together, somehow.

The child. The half-blood child. He'd be shunned by what few friends and acquaintances he had left, ridiculed. Staying at the Manor with Mother would be an absolute disaster, so he'd have to find his own place, but how to pay for it when nobody would even sell him clothing, much less offer him employment?

"_A job,_" Draco thought as a sneer rose to his face, "_no Malfoy has had to work as an employee for at least six generations, probably more._"

He'd been down this line of thinking a million times since she'd told him, and it always led him to the same place, back to the canister. Tonight was no different as he tapped out another line on the mirror next to his bed and snorted it up, then polished off one of the scones.

"_What in Merlin's name am I going to do…_" he thought as his heart raced while he lay in bed, fingers laced behind his head. He turned one way, then another, tapped his fingers on the mattress… Laying still proved impossible, and he stood up to pace back and forth.

No matter which angle he came at the dilemma from, no good option presented itself, not unless he could somehow convince Mother to accept Mary.

"_Perhaps… perhaps if I could get her to reconcile with her sister Andromeda first,_" Draco thought, "_they grew up together, surely they have something in common. Father, my grandparents, and aunt Bellatrix are all dead and gone…_"

Then he closed his eyes and cursed to himself. He'd forgotten Andromeda's grandson was Potter's godson. The mere thought of being forced to interact with Harry 'The Chosen One' Potter, even on a semi-regular basis, made him want to drink himself into unconsciousness again.

Around and around his thoughts went, until his watch beeped and, still no closer to figuring out a solution to his problem, he snorted another bump and pulled on his muggle clothing to head to the orphanage again. Normally he didn't report in on Saturdays, but this was a special weekend; he didn't even have to report in to Clark. Draco kept his replacement wand held tight in his overcoat pocket as he walked the dark and frigid streets, often glancing over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed.

"_No such thing as too careful_," he thought, recalling the painful beating he'd received a few months earlier.

At the orphanage, it was more or less routine for the first half of the day, until Alan tapped on his shoulder during lunch.

"Darren's here, at the playground," the dark-haired teen whispered to him, barely audible over the usual cacophony of the orphanage mealtime, "better go see him."

Draco turned to look at Alan and was greeted with a serious expression before the younger boy turned away to return to his usual seat.

Draco stood up as casually as he could and exited the cafeteria to walk across the field behind the orphanage to the adjacent playground, the crisp December air cutting right through his sweater. He spied Darren smoking a cigarette, leaning against a fence. The dealer stood up and flicked it down to grind it into the ground with his boot as Draco approached.

"Hey mate, I got a call this morning," Darren said, "Mary's in the hospital, she was beat pretty bad. Thought you ought to know."

Alarm flooded Draco's thoughts.

"What? Why? By whom?" Draco asked.

"I don't know, I'm about to go there now and find out," Darren replied, "seems she's been asking for you but you don't have a phone number for the hospital to call."

"Shit," Draco said, "Is she… going to be alright?"

"Yeah, she'll recover, but she's a mess right now," Darren said, "they're gonna keep her a few days."

_Days?_

Then Draco remembered, it took longer for muggles to heal. He shook his head. Who could possibly want to beat up Mary McKay? Draco recalled her slight frame; if someone really wanted to hurt her, she wouldn't be able to put up much resistance.

"_Perhaps Macmillian would let me go early today,_" he thought.

Darren shook his head as if he knew what Draco was thinking.

"Don't say anything to Macmillian," he said, pointing a finger at Draco, "I'll meet you at the hospital after your shift ends."

"It's a short day today, we're done in about two hours," Draco said.

"Right," Darren said, glancing at his watch, "I've got to take care of a few things. Mile End Hospital, just give them her name when you get there."

Draco nodded, resolving to take a taxi so he wouldn't have to figure out exactly where it was.

The remainder of the day passed in a blur as Mary's condition occupied his thoughts, along with increasingly bizarre reasons for why anyone could have possibly wanted to put her in the hospital. The end of the day couldn't come quick enough, and he and Alan raced through cleaning up wrapping paper after the kids tore through a few boxes of donated gifts, delivered a day late. Draco threw on his overcoat and glanced to Alan as they stepped out the front door.

"Are you headed to the hospital?" Draco asked, thinking to share a cab.

Alan shook his head.

"I'll meet you there, I've got something I need to check first," he said.

Draco nodded and left without another word, flagging a taxi down on the street.

"Mile End Hospital," he said, and the taxi accelerated away. The trip took less than fifteen minutes in the light traffic, and Draco handed over a few pounds as payment before stepping out into the waning light of early afternoon. He walked into the nearest entrance he could find, the glass doors sliding open on their own as he approached. A sterile smell hit his nostrils as he entered, and he involuntarily inhaled.

"Hi," he said, crossing the chequered floor to the dark-skinned woman at the reception counter, "I'm here to visit a friend of mine, Mary McKay?"

The woman turned to a small monitor on her counter and tapped in a few keystrokes.

"Name?" she asked.

"Drake Malfoy," Draco replied, then handed over his muggle ID. The lady nodded and handed him a visitor's pass along with his ID back.

"Wear your badge at all times, Victoria ward, level 2," she said. Draco nodded and took the steps two at a time up to the second level.

Following the signs, he quickly found the Victoria ward and, after running his hand through his hair a few times, pushed through the double doors. Two rows of hospital beds lined the walls, roughly half of them occupied. Several visitors milled about, clustered around a few beds and speaking in hushed voices. Draco walked between the rows until he spotted Mary about halfway down the right side. The left side of her face was horribly bruised and swollen, the ugly purple colour marring her fair skin. She lay resting with both eyes closed, even though pillows propped her up in a semi-sitting position. A monitor sat next to her bed displaying all sorts of numbers Draco didn't understand, and a privacy curtain on runners mounted into the ceiling lay bunched around the head of the bed.

"Mary," Draco said quietly, and one of her eyes fluttered open, horribly bloodshot. The other remained swollen shut.

"Drake," she said, holding out one hand. He moved to her side and enveloped her hand with his.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I was an idiot," she said, her voice raspy, "Drake, I'm sorry."

She closed her eye and swallowed.

"I lost the baby Drake, I'm sorry," she said, tears sliding out from beneath her eyelids as she sniffled.

Relief flooded through Draco, and he took a step to steady himself. Severe disgust with himself almost immediately followed his initial reaction.

"_Mary's in a hospital bed beaten half to death, your child is no longer alive, and all you care about is you don't have to deal with it anymore_," Draco thought, "_what in Merlin's name is wrong with you?_"

He gripped her hand tightly and he felt her grip back.

"_Do something,_" he thought to himself.

He leaned over and planted a light kiss on her forehead.

"What happened?" Draco forced himself to ask.

Mary opened her eye again and leaned back.

"I was trying to score some more E, and Darren wouldn't sell to me, so I asked someone else to get it," Mary said, "I thought… you know we had such a great time the first time we did it. Anyway, I made a promise to buy some, then I found out I was…pregnant, and I told her I didn't need it anymore, but she said I had to, and I guess we argued a little, and then this morning, some guys got me on the way to work to try and collect, or send a message, or whatever."

Draco's mind whirled.

"Who?" he asked.

"You don't know them," she replied. He got the feeling she wanted to keep it that way.

She took a deep, laboured breath, coughed weakly and winced.

"Drake, after you got mugged, you fixed yourself up quick, do you have anything that can help me?" she asked, "please? It hurts, and the stuff they gave me doesn't do shit."

He could. He could probably heal these mundane injuries by himself, with the wand in his pocket.

"_But should I?_" he thought, torn between self-preservation and helping his lover in her time of need.

"I…" Draco replied, "no, I told you, it looked worse than it was, and the rest was just pain killers and makeup."

Mary's expression hardened.

"I cleaned out those cuts myself and the next day they were just bloody gone, so don't **fucking** lie to me," Mary said, as she glared at him with her one good eye, her voice coming out as a raspy whisper, "I lost our baby, I'm beat to hell, why are you holding out on me?"

"_Fucking Merlin," _Draco thought. He glanced around to make sure they weren't drawing unwanted attention and jerked the privacy curtain closed with a swish of metal rings on runners.

"Alright, alright," Draco whispered, just to keep her quiet, "I'll… see what I can do."

"What was it, anyway? That you used to get better so fast?" Mary asked, somewhat mollified, "Darren said you've probably got connections to a pharma company, or maybe stole some military supplies or something, like SAS stuff."

Draco shook his head and pursed his lips. Another look at her ruined face and he found himself actually contemplating what he could get away with without breaking the Statute.

"Look, it's nothing I can talk about," Draco said quietly, shoving any decisions aside until he could mull it over properly, "like I said, I'll see what I can do. Where is Darren, anyway?"

"Here," Darren said from the other side of the curtain, pulling it open again, "seen Alan yet?"

Mary shook her head, then winced.

"No," she replied.

"I know who they were," Darren said.

There was a pause as Mary looked at Darren, and Darren stared back at her.

"Don't get hurt," she said.

Darren snorted but didn't reply.

"Oi," Alan said, out of breath as he walked up to the bed, "Konstantinov and his mates are at his flat now."

He bent over, flipped his baseball cap backwards, and put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

"Good," Darren said, a determined expression crossing his face, "how many?"

"Three," Alan replied, then put a hand on the foot of the bed and half stood, half leaned as he turned to Mary.

"Hi," he said in between pants, "sorry for saying, but you look like shit."

"Fuck you Alan," Mary replied, but she managed a smirk.

Darren started striding towards the exit, and Alan rolled his eyes and took one more deep breath, then trotted to catch up. He almost ran into Darren as the dealer stopped and turned to look back at Draco.

"You comin'?" Darren asked.

Mary's hand, her middle finger clipped onto some kind of wire, latched onto Draco's wrist.

"You don't have to," Mary whispered, looking up at him with her one good eye.

Draco blinked and the decision only took a second. If he didn't do this, he'd probably lose all of them. Sure, Mary said he didn't have to, but he didn't doubt for a moment he'd be diminished in her eyes if he didn't, and he most certainly would in Darren and Alan's, especially if they put themselves at risk and he didn't. Plus, if he didn't even take revenge on whoever murdered his unborn child and did this to Mary, the woman he'd shared a bed with for months, what did that say about him?

"Yeah I do," he said, shrugging her hand off. He kissed two fingers and touched them against her forehead, then turned to follow Darren and Alan downstairs. Darren and Alan dropped their hospital ID badges in the bin on the way out, and Draco followed suit. In the parking lot, Darren led them to a blue car and unlocked it to slide into the driver's seat.

"This a Lancer Evo?" Alan asked as he hopped in the front and Draco sat in the rear.

"Yeah, good deal too, only ten thousand on it," Darren said, pulling a strap from over his shoulder and clipping it in near his hip as Alan followed suit. Draco never wore seatbelts in the taxis and he struggled with his own as Darren started the car and revved the engine, flicking the headlights on as they exited the lot and pulled onto the road.

"What were they doin' when you saw them?" Darren asked.

"Playin' video games," Alan replied.

Darren nodded. They drove for about five minutes as Draco stared out the window, then pulled over and parked on the side of the road in a run-down neighbourhood. Darren reached into the glove compartment and pulled out something metal and tucked it into his jacket pocket. Draco exited to the sidewalk and watched as Alan, now without his hat, went round to the boot, popping it open and pulling out a pair of metal bats before slamming it shut again. He held one out to Draco, along with a wool mask that covered his entire face.

"_They're really going to pummel these guys,_" Draco thought, grabbing the grip and hefting it a few times, "_Correction, __**we're **__really going to pummel these guys. Good. They bloody deserve it._"

Darren started walking down the road, the lone nearby streetlight casting dark shadows against the adjacent apartment buildings. A dog barked in the distance.

"How do you know these guys?" Draco asked, trotting to catch up, the leather grip of the metal bat held tight in one hand and alongside his leg to make it more difficult to see from a distance.

"Konstantinov's dad was a rival of Martin's father's back maybe five or six years ago, but after the Russians all got locked up or deported we took over their territory," Darren replied, "Dmitri Konstantinov's a small time dealer now, and we mostly leave him alone out of respect for his dad, but this is way out of line. I don't think he knew who Mary was; she wasn't buying directly from him, but that doesn't bloody matter."

Draco nodded, somewhat impressed Darren was able to find out who they were in just one afternoon.

"I saw them from the back window, they were all in the front of the apartment when I checked," Alan said. Darren nodded.

They entered an apartment building with flickering hallway lights and paint peeling from the walls. Darren led them up to the second-floor corridor, about halfway down. Darren and Alan both pulled masks over their faces, and Draco quickly did the same, the material itchy against his skin.

Alan covered up the peephole while Darren withdrew the metal strip from his pocket and affixed it through his fingers and gripped it tightly, and Draco grasped their purpose almost immediately; getting hit with those would _hurt_. Sweat made Draco's grip slick on the bat and his heart raced in anticipation as he glanced up and down the deserted hall. The stolen wand lay in his jacket pocket, only to be used as a last resort. Darren rapped sharply on the door three times. There was a muffled voice from inside as he lined up with the door, taking a few quick steadying breaths. As soon as it started to open, the stocky drug dealer launched himself at it, driving through the portal and knocking back whoever was on the other side. Alan was in right behind him, baseball bat primed for swinging. Draco heard a sickening *thunk* of the metal bat colliding with flesh, followed by a yelp of pain. Then he was through the door as well and into the small, dark, apartment, right behind Alan. A couch faced a TV set on a bookshelf, and a small window could be seen beyond the door at the far end of the unit.

One young blonde muggle lay on the ground near the door, clutching his elbow, and another one, this one with dark hair, had just stood up from the couch when Darren caught him with the brass knuckles. Even a glancing blow caused the Russian to nearly fall over, cursing in pain. Emerging from the back room, however, was a much larger muggle. Draco's eyes widened as the meaty muggle's features clicked into recognition in his brain. The slightly overweight frame, the bent nose… this was the muggle who'd snapped his wand. Without questioning why he was here with one of the group that'd assaulted Mary, Draco let out an incoherent roar and launched himself across the room, adrenaline spiking and vision tunnelling until all he could see was the meaty muggle stumbling back and raising an arm to defend himself. Draco struck with all his might, swinging diagonally down and smashing directly into the muggle's forearm with a dull cracking sound, not unlike a direct bludger strike, the kind that ruptured internal organs. A high-pitched scream came from the muggle as he fell backwards, his forearm bending at an impossible angle as he tried to catch himself and break his fall. Draco took another step and slammed a two handed overhead swing straight down into the muggle's ribs. The muggle grunted and curled up into a foetal position, and Draco tossed the bat aside to step over the muggle, knelt down, and started pummelling his face, raining his fist down again and again. With his arm already broken, the overweight muggle couldn't defend himself at all, and it wasn't long before he was completely unconscious. That didn't stop Draco though, and it wasn't until Alan dragged him off that he came to his senses.

"Alright mate, he's had enough," Alan said, "hey! He's had enough!"

Draco glanced back at the muggle as Darren handed the bat back to him. He lay on his back and his arm bent at an awkward angle, and his face was a mangled and bloody mess. Draco's chest roared in exultation even as he flexed his hand. He resisted the urge to spit on the chunky bastard.

The dark-haired muggle, Konstantinov, Draco surmised, lay on the floor in front of the couch, still conscious but already bruising around his jaw where Darren clipped him.

"What the bloody hell," Konstantinov said, the words coming out a bit funny as he clutched his injured face and pulled himself up to sit.

Darren responded by pulling a knife from a pocket, extending the blade with an audible *click*. The Russian froze as Darren knelt down and put the blade to his throat, yanking his head back by the hair.

"The girl you and your boys roughed up earlier today, you know who she is?" Darren asked.

"The fuck? No, just some whore who owed Tanya money," Konstantinov said, wincing as Darren pressed the knife a bit more.

"That 'whore' is Mary McKay, Bruno's little sister," Darren said.

"Oh, shit," Konstantinov said quietly, his face going even whiter.

"Yeah, 'oh shit'. You ever touch her again, I'll fucking kill you, assuming Bruno doesn't get you first," Darren said.

Konstantinov nodded.

"I swear I didn't know," he said.

"I believe you," Darren said as he stood up and folded the knife, "otherwise this would have been a whole different conversation. Stay the fuck away from her."

He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small white baggie.

"Just in case you get any bright ideas about calling the cops," Darren said, untying the small plastic bag and dumping the contents all over Konstantinov and the carpet, even as Draco's mind screamed 'NO!' at the wasted cocaine.

The muggle by the door flinched out of the way as they exited the apartment, with Alan closing the door behind them and Draco pushing away the urge to run back and snort some of the cocaine right off Konstantinov's nasty carpet. Darren quickly walked the street, nearly jogging he moved so fast. A few door slams later and they were back in his car and driving off. Draco pulled off his mask, the December air cold on his skin, and he examined the torn skin and bloody skin on his knuckles by the light passing street lights.

"_Must have hit a tooth,_" he thought, resolving to let this one heal naturally and avoid any further questions.

Draco had never beaten another person so severely with just his fists. It was such a muggle thing to do, but there was a certain intimacy to the act, to overpower another human so completely.

"Drake, what the hell, you were like a completely different person," Alan said once they passed the first intersection. He twisted around to face Draco, his mask also off and the backwards hat back in place.

Draco shook his head. He was coming down off the adrenaline high now and his hands wanted to start shaking. He made an instant, almost unconscious calculation of whether to bring up how he'd been mugged by that particular large muggle, but concluded that it would remind them of his weakness and possibly bring up questions again about how he'd recovered so quickly.

"That asshole put Mary in the hospital, in case you'd forgotten," Draco replied, putting considerable acid in his voice.

"They fucking deserved it, and he'll live, so it's alright," Darren said, "how's about a few drinks?"

"Yeah, I need a few after that," Alan said, turning back to the front, seemingly satisfied.

Darren nodded.

"You lads want to see my new place?" he asked.

"You finally closed? Sure," Alan said, as he started fiddling with the radio. He settled on some thumping electronic beat and turned the volume up until the windows rattled.

The trio cruised the dark streets and through several intersections for a few kilometres, Draco willing his heart to slow down and his hands to stop shaking. Eventually, they turned onto a residential street in a slightly less seedy neighbourhood than Darren's old apartment.

"There she is," he said, turning into the driveway of a run-down single-family home. Paint peeled off the side of the house and several of the shutters and a few shingles were missing. Darren pulled up to the closed garage door and switched off the car, ending the techno soundtrack of their journey and plunging the exterior into darkness.

Draco followed him and Alan up the short, weed choked walk to a front porch with sunken wooden steps.

"It's not much, but it's mine," Darren said as he opened the door, "don't mind the mess."

He flicked on a switch and a hall light illuminated a dirty linoleum floor with a wooden staircase and banister to their left, a broken step about halfway up. Mismatched, obviously second hand furniture decorated an unlit sitting room to the right, and Darren led the way to the kitchen, dropping his keys on a round table set by the rear window. He flicked another switch and a single bulb hanging by a wire over the table flickered to life with a low buzzing sound. Draco cautiously walked over and sat on the edge of one of the hard chairs as Darren poked his head into the fridge and emerged with a six-pack of green bottles sporting a red star on the label. He popped the lids off three with a bottle opener and passed them around.

"Cheers," he said, as they tapped with a few clinks.

After taking the obligatory swig, Draco glanced around again. The place obviously needed a lot of work, but it might be comfortable if it had the right lighting and furnishings.

"No offense mate, but this house looks like it should be condemned," Alan said. Draco couldn't help but agree.

Darren snorted.

"It's shit now, but I'm gonna fix it up an sell it," Darren replied.

Draco took another sip as he pondered exactly how much of the money required to purchase this broken-down house had come from himself. He took a larger gulp as he decided he didn't really want to know.

"Best part about it though? It has a garage," Darren said, motioning Alan to follow. He opened a door to the left flicked on the lights.

Draco followed them into the annex, apparently a late add-on to the structure, judging by the wall adjoining the house. The garage smelled of old oil. A few shelves with parts he couldn't identify lay against the back wall, and a counter and cabinets sat against another. Wires and more parts and tools he couldn't identify lay scattered on and dangled from the countertop.

"Nice, are you going to mod the car?" Alan asked, looking around the inside of the garage.

"'Are you going to mod the car?'" Darren mimicked, "the fuck do you think? Yeah I'm going to mod it, otherwise what's the point of buying an Evo?"

"I want to add a turbocharger," Darren added, "could use a hand with some of the maths, actually, if you're around next week."

"Hell yeah, long as I get to drive it now and then," Alan said.

The conversation escalated from there. Draco understood most of the words as English, but it was almost like they were speaking a different language, talking about cams, turbines, intercoolers, and intakes, and Draco completely lost the thread. He picked up a set of red and black wires with clips on the end, then set them back down when he got grease on his fingers.

"So all this'll, what, make the car go faster?" Draco asked.

The conversation stopped dead as Darren and Alan stared at him. Darren looked at Alan and cocked his head towards Draco as if to say 'do you believe this guy?'

"Yeah, it'll make the car go faster," he said with a patronizing grin, and drained his bottle. He took the point though, and led them back inside, where they got to work polishing off the rest of the six pack.

"I don't think we'll hear from Konstantinov again," Darren said, "especially since Bruno's out next week."

"Are we having a party?" Alan asked.

"Eh, I'll let you know," Darren replied, "probably."

"Drake, don't you live in a bloody mansion?" Alan asked, turning to him, "why don't we ever drink at your place?"

The image of his mother vanishing the corpses of both Darren and Alan while muttering about an infestation crossed his mind.

"Ehm, my mum's there and she can be… volatile," Draco said, "it's not a good idea."

Alan grumbled into his beer.

"Bollocks, I always wanted to party in a mansion," he said, tilting it back and finishing it off.

"Think you're going to have to start some crazy internet company and buy your own mansion," Darren said, then snapped his fingers, "I know, mansionparty dot com."

"Working on it, mate, working on it," Alan mumbled as he tossed the bottle in the trash, "got a few ideas tossing around, better than bloody mansionparty dot com, too."

"You can tell me about them on the way back," Darren said, picking up his keys, "let's go, I'll drop you boys off."

Draco nodded, polishing off his bottle as well. Darren locked the front door behind them and as they piled into the car again.

"How did you know it was those Russians who beat up Mary?" Draco asked as Alan fiddled with the radio again.

He saw Darren smirk in the light of a passing streetlight.

"Just got to know the right people, mate," he replied.

"Darren fucking knows everyone," Alan added, "I swear we can just be walking down the street and random blokes will just say hi. Bit creepy actually."

Draco nodded as Alan settled on another thumping techno beat.

"Thanks," Draco said, "for finding them."

"Wasn't for you, but don't mention it," Darren said.

Draco again reflected on just how much he didn't know. He felt as if there was a world within the muggle world that he'd just gotten the barest taste of, and only because it reached out and struck someone close to him. The entire conversation in the garage, completely beyond him... If he didn't already know they were talking about cars, he wouldn't have been able to make a first guess at what they were discussing.

"_Darren's not even the smartest snidget in the flock and he knows all about these things,_" Draco thought, "_and what do I know? The motor burns up petrol and makes it go._"

Part of him wanted to learn more, to throw himself into books and into Darren and Alan's car enhancement project to absorb as much as he could. If what he understood about muggle technology was correct, anyone could learn it, so long as they were clever enough. Another part of him couldn't be fucked. He was gone in a few months anyway, back to the wizarding world where things made sense… and where pretty much everyone hated him.

"_Dammit, I need a hit,_" he thought as his eyes followed the streetlights as they came and went. His fingers went to the canister again.

* * *

Draco pressed the intercom.

"Yeah," Darren's voice answered.

"It's Drake," Draco replied, and was rewarded with a long buzz.

He climbed the steps and entered the dingy apartment to find Darren in the kitchen frying up some sausage. Grease spattered everywhere and the fire occasionally flared up towards the hood.

"Mary around?" Draco asked.

"Sleeping," Darren replied.

"Again?" Draco asked.

It was ridiculous how long it took muggles to heal. What would have been cleared up with some wiggenweld or a semi-competent healer in a matter of seconds, or a minute at most, had kept Mary in the hospital for two and a half days, and even after they discharged her, she was still bruised to the point she demanded extra large sunglasses before she would consider leaving the building. Draco felt bad for muggles in general, but he felt especially bad for Mary. Not only had she lost a child, but she was still recovering nearly a week later.

"I'll go see how she's doing," Draco said. Darren nodded.

"I'm heading over to the house in a bit, need anything before I go?" he asked.

"Could use a topup," Draco replied.

Darren didn't even bother turning off the fire as he walked to his room, so accustomed were they at exchanging cash for weed and cocaine at this point. The buy was completed in less than thirty seconds and Darren went back to stirring, and then eating the sausage straight off the pan, while Draco carefully refilled the film canister right there in the living room. He resisted the urge to take a bump off the top or chop a line on the glass coffee table, and instead stuffed it into his trousers before knocking gently on Mary's door. There was no response so he quietly pushed in.

Mary lay sleeping in bed, and even in the dim light filtering through the blinds, Draco could still make out faint bruises on the side of her face. He'd seriously considered healing her injuries, but practical considerations won out in the end. No matter how he played out the likely course of events, Mary being the beneficiary of a miraculous recovery didn't end well. Someone else would be injured, Mary or Darren or Alan might tell someone to look for him to patch them up quick, and there would always be something, a sick family member, a freak injury, a fever… Word would very quickly get around that he had some cure or some method of healing people. With muggles having absolutely no way to heal faster, it would spread like fiendfyre, and Draco would be powerless to stop it. Eventually it would lead to questions, and he might be brought up on charges for violating the Statute, which he definitely couldn't afford. As much as he would have liked to help, he forced himself, and Mary, to wait while nature took its course and her body repaired itself on its own.

He sat in a chair near the door, placed specifically for this purpose, and watched her sleep peacefully, her deep, slow breaths calming him. He distinctly heard the front door open, then close, easily audible through the shitty walls, and he and Mary were alone in the apartment again. Although her bruises were healing up nicely, her mental state was another thing entirely. Losing the baby seemed to have done something to her, and she hadn't really been her normal, sarcastic and overly confident self since returning from the hospital. In fact, every time he'd come over since then, she'd been in bed.

"_Wonder if she's still mad at me for not healing her,_" Draco thought, "_if that's the case, it's just too bad, she's going to have to get over it._"

He'd told her he wasn't able to get any more of the 'stuff' he'd used to help himself, intentionally keeping it vague. He wasn't sure if she believed him but it didn't matter, he couldn't take the risk and she'd make a full recovery even without magical healing.

Mary stirred, taking a deep breath and opening her eyes, blinking a few times as she looked over to him.

"Hey, you're here," she said, raising a hand and motioning him over.

Draco stood up and leaned over, kissing her on the forehead. He moved the chair closer as she half-grinned with a mischievous glint in her eye. Draco smiled back; he recognized the familiar expression from her, one he hadn't seen since the attack.

"I've got something for us," she said, sitting up and scooting back against the headboard.

"I've felt like shit ever since the… you know," she said, turning on the lamp on the night table.

She flipped the covers off, stood up, and walked past him to the dresser, wearing only red panties and a black t-shirt proudly proclaiming 'Garbage' across the front. His cock made a little twitch as he froze where he sat. They hadn't had sex since she was injured and apparently part of him had already decided it'd been well long enough.

"I figured we could have a little fun," she said.

"_Fuck no, Draco, that's what got you into trouble in the first place, and you can't just whip your wand out and start firing off contraceptive charms in front of a muggle,_" he thought.

This line of thinking was immediately followed by a second thought as she bent over to rummage around the bottom drawer.

"_Maybe I could make a run to the loo real quick…_" he thought.

He swallowed as his eyes roamed over her pale thighs, down to her bare feet and back up to those red panties.

Mary pulled out a small plastic container with an orange lid, set it on the dresser, then popped it open and started removing items one at a time: a spoon, a small plastic bottle of some clear liquid, what looked like coke in a baggie, a few cotton balls, alcohol swabs, a brown rubber hose, a metal needle, and a lighter. After laying them out side by side on the dresser, she looked over at Draco, an excited gleam in her eye. He stood up to get a closer look at what she'd placed down.

"_What the fuck?_" he thought.

"Alright, I give up, what is it?" Draco asked.

Mary snorted, a half-chuckle.

"Only heaven on earth," she said, "you cook it in the spoon and then you inject it."

"Inject," Draco replied, his brow furrowing, "what, into your blood?"

"_That can't possibly be it,_" he thought.

She turned her arm out and he saw it, a tiny bruise on the inside of her elbow.

"Yeah, it's the best way," she said.

"_Merlin's balls,_" he thought.

He shook his head slowly.

"What's it called?" he asked.

"Are we playing?" she asked with another familiar smirk.

He nodded.

"Heroin," she replied, licking her lips.

"And you put it in your blood," he asked.

_Dirty blood._

She nodded.

"I know it might seem a little crazy at first, but trust me, it's better than anything, better than coke, better than E," she said, "I scored some for us, to use together."

Draco looked down at the equipment laid out in front of them and swallowed. Smoking up or snorting some powder was one thing, but this...

"And this'll make you feel better?" he asked.

She nodded.

"More than better. My turn. Do you trust me?" she asked.

Draco hesitated.

"Drake, it was the best…" she said, sighing, "the only thing I could think of was I had to share it with you."

Draco looked at her, studied her face. The swelling was gone, but the bruise still hadn't fully healed. Neither had her smile, as she forced the expression without it reaching her eyes.

"I already feel more like myself," she added, "come on, let's just try it together once, and if you don't like it, we don't have to do it again. I promise."

Draco blinked a few times, weighing his options. Mary seemed really into it and it _was_ true, she was acting more like herself for the first time since she'd left the hospital, even if she was still a bit out of sorts.

"_Only to be expected, she lost a child for Merlin's sake,_" he thought.

"Alright," Draco replied.

Mary's face broke into a victorious and anticipatory grin, a real one this time, and she started setting up, squirting the liquid from the bottle into the spoon, then tapping out some of the powder into it. A citrusy smell filled Draco's nostrils as he watched her work. Next came the lighter, as she held it under the spoon to help the powder dissolve.

"It's worth the wait," she said, the small flame reflected in her eyes as she glanced up at Draco.

It wasn't long before only liquid remained in the spoon. Mary placed the lighter back down on the table and picked up the syringe and one of the cotton balls. She peeled a small bit of cotton off and dropped it into the spoon, then carefully sucked up every drop of the solution through the makeshift filter. She held the needle up to the light of the lamp on the nightstand, flicking it a few times as she stared, mouth slightly open in concentration.

"You have to do this to get the bubbles out," she said, depressing the plunger a bit, then placing the syringe back down on the dresser.

"Here, put this around your bicep," she said, pulling his sleeve up, revealing the faded dark mark, and wrapped the rubber hose around his arm, then pulled it tight.

"Hold it here, make a fist, and flex your arm a few times," she said, demonstrating, and Draco numbly followed suit, bending his knees to place his elbow on the top of the dresser, and pulling the hose tight. His hand felt heavy as blood filled the limb, trapped by the hose.

Mary tapped the inside of his elbow, the same spot where her bruise was.

"_Your blood's pure, you can't be muddying it up with this poison," _a tiny voice said inside his head.

"You tap it to get a vein to pop up a little, makes it easier," she said.

She wiped a small patch of his skin down with one of the alcohol swabs, the liquid cold on his arm as it quickly evaporated. Mary went for the syringe next, the light of the lamp reflecting on the silver needle.

"Just hold still," she said, tip of her tongue out in concentration. The sharpened needle tip approached his elbow as she bent over, auburn hair partially obscuring his vision, holding his arm with one hand and the syringe with the other.

Something inside of him revolted at the thought of the metal piercing him, a visceral, guttural rejection, straight from his core.

"Fuck no," Draco said, jerking back just as the tip of the needle was about to hit the inside of his arm.

"No fucking way, Mary," he said again, ripping off the rubber hose and flexing his hand a few times as he shook his head.

"Drake, don't worry, it'll be fine," she said, her eyes convincing, still holding the syringe, "I swear."

Draco crossed his arms and took a half-step back.

"Mm-mm," he said, shaking his head, "nope."

"We can't just let it go now, we've already cooked it," she said, an ounce of frustration entering her voice.

"You can still do it," Draco said, "but there's no way _that_ is going in my blood."

"Please, Drake?" she asked, brow furrowing, begging with her eyes.

Draco hesitated for a split-second.

"No," he said, shaking his head, "no, I can't."

Mary huffed and rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she said, ripping open another alcohol swab.

"Bloody waste," she muttered as she dragged it over the inside of her elbow, then gathered up the hose and wrapped it around her own arm, using her teeth to keep it tight. Flexing a few times, she tapped her arm and scooted to sit in the centre of the bed.

Draco watched half in fascination, half in horror as the needle broke her skin and she released the hose, a drop of blood spilling into the chamber before she depressed the plunger, forcing the liquid out and into her vein. She pushed it halfway down before stopping.

"Oh fuck," she said, exhaling in what Draco assumed was shock. She barely got the needle out of her arm before her eyes rolled back and she slowly, quietly, lay back onto the sheets.

Draco watched as she took a few shuddering breaths, then seemed to settle down into a completely unfocused state, half-lidded eyes blinking or a deep breath every now and then, but otherwise completely removed from reality.

"Mary?" he said. He tapped her foot, ice cold from the floor, and her only response was to mumble something incoherently. He lifted up one of her legs by the ankle and let it fall back to the bed, with almost no reaction from her.

"_What the fuck,_" he thought, "_thank Merlin I didn't inject myself with this shite._"

He observed her for another moment or two as she hovered on the edge of unconsciousness.

"_She's so out of it I could cast a contraceptive charm and she would never know,_" Draco thought.

When he found himself actually contemplating pulling off those red knickers and having sex with her while she lay there almost completely unresponsive, he mentally slapped himself.

"_What the fuck is wrong with me?_" he thought. He picked up the syringe, still half full, and placed it back on the dresser, then pulled out the film canister and snorted a quick bump. He shook his head as the coke brought focus to his thoughts, and Draco paused at the bedroom door to spare a glance back at Mary McKay, completely off in her own world, before he turned away, set the front door to lock when he closed it, and shut her in to start the long hike back to the Leaky.

* * *

Draco walked through the open doorway into Darren's shitty apartment, noting the small duffel bag propping it and preventing it from closing.

"Hello?" Draco said.

"In here mate," Darren's muffled voice came from down the hallway.

Draco followed the voice and, ignoring Mary's closed door, entered Darren's bedroom for the first time. Slightly larger than Mary's, blues and greens on the walls, carpet, and bedspread gave it almost an underwater feel. A large muscular man held a heavy black bag in both hands, lifting it up with what appeared to be a great deal of effort, while Darren stood on a chair attempting to loop a chain at the top of the bag through a hook in the ceiling.

"Got it," Darren said, then stepped down from the chair. The large man let the bag down slowly, letting it hang from the hook, then took a deep breath and wiped his hands on his trousers. Several tattoos adorned both of his arms, and only a quarter inch or so of dark hair covered his scalp and formed a goatee about his mouth.

"Bruno, this is Drake, I mentioned him earlier?" Darren said.

"Right, Mary's boyfriend," Bruno said, with only the barest hint of an Irish accent.

He held out a hand for Draco to shake, and Draco grasped his hand, then resisted the urge to wince in pain or flex his nearly crushed fingers afterwards. Bruno McKay was slightly taller than Draco, but with massive biceps and rippling muscle beneath his thin white shirt.

"Just one more bag from the car, you two get acquainted, I'll be right back," Darren said, taking the chair with him as he departed.

Darren left the two of them in the room together and Draco and Bruno stared at each other for a very long moment.

"So what's this then?" Draco asked, nodding to the bag.

Bruno gave him a funny look, like Draco was a complete moron.

"Punching bag, for practice," he replied, "sometimes I don't have time to get down to the gym."

Draco nodded.

"You punch a lot of things then?" Draco asked.

"Sometimes," Bruno replied, "listen, I heard how you helped take care of the fuckers who put my sister in the hospital, so I don't think we're going to have a problem.."

Draco opened his mouth to say something but Bruno kept going.

"But just so we understand one another, if you hurt her, you'll be eating through a straw for three months," he said.

The pure, matter-of-fact way he said it made Draco certain this man was no stranger to violence.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Draco replied drily, "is she here now?"

"Sleeping," Bruno said as he started pulling articles of clothing from a suitcase on the bed and placing them into a dresser at the far side of the room.

Draco nodded.

A moment later, Darren returned, carrying a small suitcase in one hand and the black duffel bag that was holding open the front door. He hefted them onto the bed next to the larger suitcase.

"That's everything," he said, "dinner?"

"Yeah mate, I'm famished," Bruno said.

"Drake, pizza?" Darren asked, "Bruno's got his own special diet."

"Sure," Draco replied.

They headed to the kitchen where Draco took a seat while Darren busied himself unwrapping their dinner and manoeuvring it into the barely large enough microwave. Bruno started pulling out pots and pans with several loud clanks.

"When's the last time you cleaned the stovetop? It's bloody disgraceful," he said.

"I was saving it for you," Darren replied, pulling out a pipe and packing it with weed as the pizza slowly rotated.

Bruno muttered to himself as he set up a pot and a plate.

"Can I interest you in a welcome home toke?" Darren asked.

"No, and don't you dare light that up," Bruno said, glancing over his shoulder, "I don't need a pre-fight piss test coming back positive because you're smoking up all the time."

Darren shrugged and put the pipe away.

"He takes the boxing seriously, thinks he's the next Steve Collins," Darren said quietly to Draco as Bruno set some chicken steaming.

"If you're gonna do something, do it right," Bruno replied.

"So have you spoken to Martin yet?" Darren asked, changing the subject.

Bruno glanced at Draco, then back to Darren, who nodded almost imperceptibly, as if to say 'he's alright'.

"Yeah, we had a few drinks last night," Bruno said, stirring the chicken a bit, "welcome back and all that, you know. Reckon he'll have a job for me soon enough."

Darren nodded. The microwave dinged, and he shuffled the now steaming, molten cheese and oily pepperoni covered meal to the table, where he and Draco tucked in. Bruno joined them a few minutes later, steaming white chicken meat loaded onto his plate.

"Dunno how you can eat it plain like that," Darren said in between reverse-blows on the too-hot pizza.

"Not everyone likes a shot of pure sodium to their veins for dinner, and I need the protein," Bruno replied, "try eating right sometime and stop smoking up, you'll feel a lot better."

Darren shook his head and snickered.

"It's good to have you back, mate," he said.

A chirping sound started, and Draco looked around for the source. Bruno pulled a small device from his pocket, opened it up, extended a small antenna, and held it to his ear.

"Hello? Yes. Yes, okay," Bruno said, "twenty minutes. Right, bye."

He folded it up again and placed it on the table, then continued eating.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Draco asked.

"That, was a mobile phone," Darren replied with a smirk, then glanced to Bruno.

"Drake's head is a bit funny, a bit of memory loss from an accident a few years ago, got a wicked scar from it too," Darren said.

Bruno grunted and kept shovelling food into his mouth.

"What, just like a regular phone, but with no wires, and it works anywhere?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, long as you can get a signal," Darren replied.

He looked back to Bruno.

"He want me there too?" Darren asked.

"Yeah," Bruno said, cramming the last of the chicken in, "let's go."

Darren picked up a slice of pizza to take with him.

"You staying here?" Bruno asked Draco.

"Might for a bit, keep an eye on Mary," Draco said. Bruno nodded.

"Take care of her," Bruno said, holding his gaze for a moment, then threw his coat over his shoulders.

Draco stood up and shook his hand again, then closed the front door behind them and cracked Mary's door open quietly. She lay sprawled out on the bed, covers a complete mess, sleeping quietly, drug paraphernalia nowhere to be seen. Draco entered fully and watched her for several long minutes, captivated by the sound of her peaceful breathing and her chest rising and falling in time. He thought about waking her, but figuring she needed her rest if she was to recover, he left, closing the door quietly.

* * *

"I had it first!" the little blonde boy said. Charles, Draco thought his name was.

"It's mine!" the dark haired one, Michael, shouted, attempting to pull the toy dump truck away from Charles.

"Stop," Draco said half-heartedly, "let go."

The two started scuffling and eventually fell to the floor, the truck forgotten, and Draco, once again more stoned than was strictly advisable, thought it was the most hilarious thing he'd ever seen. He started giggling as Michael started pulling on Charles' hair, followed by Charles clamping his teeth down on Michael's arm. The screaming intensified from there while Draco watched on, thoroughly amused.

Until Director Terry Macmillian swept in and forcibly pushed the kids apart. He glared at Draco.

"My office, now," he said as Steph arrived and led the two boys away, scolding them under her breath. She spared a glance back at Draco then turned to focus on the boys.

Draco's high evaporated almost immediately as he followed in Macmillian's wake. A lump of coal formed in his stomach as Draco sat down before the director's desk and studied the scratched brown and golden name plate in front of him, while Macmillian took his seat across and folded his hands on the desk.

"Why didn't you break up that fight?" Macmillian asked.

"I dunno," Draco replied, not making eye contact.

Macmillian eyed him appraisingly.

"Do I need send you for a drug test?" he asked.

"Drug test?" Draco asked, looking up.

Macmillian shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"You don't know what that is? It means the muggles test your pee for illegal drugs," Macmillian replied.

Draco recalled something Bruno had mentioned the day before that hadn't made sense at the time.

"They can do that?" Draco asked.

"Yes, they can do that," Macmillian replied as if explaining to a young child, "there's a lot they can do, though it's merely a formality at this point since you've been coming here high as a kite for over two months now. Honestly, did you think I don't know what weed smells like? I lived through the 60's, Mr. Malfoy."

"_What else does Macmillian know_?" he thought.

Draco felt panic starting to rise at the thought Macmillian might know about the pregnancy or the coke, but he forced it back down, forced himself to think.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Draco asked.

"I wanted to see if you could snap yourself out of it, but it appears that's not going to happen," Macmillian said.

The director stood and walked to a filing cabinet, rifling through for a moment before pulling out a folder, placing it on his desk, leafing through, then scribbling a few notes.

"You're going to come in here, every week, and we're going to talk about your issues," Macmilian said.

"I don't have any issues," Draco said, "none that would make any sense to you anyway."

Macmillian closed the folder and stared at Draco for a moment.

"Mr. Malfoy, I've worked with teens for over twenty-five years," Macmillian said, "the oldest children in this orphanage are only a few months younger than yourself. As I was saying, you're going to come here every week and we're going to chat about your issues."

Draco made to speak again, but Macmillian raised the volume of his voice to forestall any interruption.

"We're going to chat about your issues, or we can end this community service today and I'll submit my final report three months early. I can send for the Aurors to come pick you up this afternoon," he said.

"No, you can't!" Draco said, panic rising again, unchecked this time.

"I most certainly can, and perhaps I should," Macmillian said, "you've broken the law and put innocent children in danger as a result."

"They're going to send me to Azkaban!" Draco said.

"Maybe that's where you belong!" Macmillian replied, almost glaring.

Draco's eyes darted about as he considered his options. His wand was in his coat pocket, in the hallway. He could make it there before Macmillian caught him, and then… then he could run. Perhaps find a way to Europe… Blaise was in Italy… But that would mean leaving Mother behind, and without him supplying her weed she might go back to potions and accidentally kill herself...

"Or, you can come here once a week to talk," Macmillian said.

Draco looked back to Macmillian and took a long steadying breath.

"I guess I'd better come talk then," he said, not really seeing any other options.

Macmillian nodded, then stayed silent.

"What, right now?" Draco asked.

"No time like the present," Macmillian replied, leaning back in his seat.

Draco let out a half-chuckle. Where to even begin?

"Why did you smoke up earlier today?" Macmillian asked.

Draco almost laughed again and glanced around the room, but there was no way out. He had to go through with this or Macmillian was going to send him to the dementors. He sighed.

"You wouldn't understand," Draco replied, still glancing around the room.

"Wouldn't understand what?" Macmillian asked.

"I smoke because I need to, because otherwise I'll be reminded every day about how shit my life is," Draco replied, now looking the director dead in the eye, "you wouldn't understand, because House Malfoy used to be the most powerful family in Britain, and now I can't even get served at a restaurant. My wand was broken by muggles…"

Draco cut himself off and looked away before he got in even more trouble.

"I wouldn't understand loss of status because I'm older than you?" Macmillian asked, "or I wouldn't understand loss of magic because I'm a squib?"

Draco grimaced at the term. Calling someone a squib was thought to be offensive to them, even if it was a true description of their magical ability.

"I can't possibly know what it's like to be you, to have no magic because your wand was destroyed, because I never had any to begin with, right?" Macmillian said, "Don't forget who I am, Mr. Malfoy. The Macmillian family is _also _one of the sacred twenty-eight. So when you say I wouldn't understand, you're going to need to be a bit more specific, because perhaps you meant to say I can't possibly know anything about a difficult life, despite being tossed out, at the age of twelve, into a world I knew nothing about. I don't know anything about having to learn about the muggle world all on my own, starting from zero, or about building myself up through trial and error, with no money, no family, no friends, no skills. About founding a business and a service and keeping it going for decades. Perhaps you're trying to say you're the only one who's ever experienced trials in his life. Because what the hell do I know? I'm just a squib."

Draco looked back to the director with a sullen expression. He knew it was insolent, but when Macmillian put it that way, it was all the more impressive to Draco what he'd built, and his own inadequacy loomed large in comparison. The orphanage had probably helped hundreds, if not thousands, of otherwise vulnerable and helpless children over the decades, when no one else would help them. Knowing what Macmillian had accomplished, all without magic, only made Draco feel worse about himself and he stewed in his misfortune.

"Your piles of gold aren't as big as they used to be, boo hoo," Macmillian added while Draco reflected, "you don't have skills? You don't have talent?"

"Aren't you a Malfoy? Shouldn't you rise to the top regardless of your circumstance?" Macmillian asked, "that's what my father told me, at least before he cast me out and pretended I'd never existed."

"It's bloody impossible," Draco said finally, raising his voice, "they broke my wand, my magic will never be as strong as it should be."

Macmillian frowned.

"Yes, your wand was destroyed," Macmillian said, "but then again, that wand landed you here, didn't it? This could be a chance at a fresh start, if you tried opening your eyes a little bit. Yes, it was the wand you learned magic with, but isn't there anything you did with that wand that you're not entirely proud of?"

Draco's thoughts automatically went to the days he spent repairing the Vanishing Cabinet, cursing the necklace that injured Katie Bell, using it to cast the Imperius on Madam Rosmerta, using it to torture Rowle.

"Draco, start by talking, about anything," Macmillian said, "whatever we discuss will be held in the strictest confidence. It's one of the oaths we take as counsellors."

He gestured to the certifications mounted on the wall behind him.

"Talking can help," he added.

Draco looked up at Macmillian again at those words, words that Mary had echoed to him, he now knew. Mary. Would she care if he died or vanished from her life forever?

"_Who am I trying to kid, she'd be crushed,_" Draco thought.

Draco started talking then.

"It all started at Madam Malkin's, err, a clothing shop in Diagon Alley, that's when I first met Harry bloody Potter, though I didn't know it was him at the time," Draco started.

Once he began, the words started tumbling out. Over the next few hours, Draco laid out a summary of highlights and lowlights from his Hogwarts years and the role he'd played in the second wizarding war, the horrors of hosting Lord Voldemort, especially when not in his good graces, in bringing about Dumbledore's defeat, watching his crazy aunt torture his former classmate, how Harry bloody Potter saved his life, twice, once in the room of Requirement where Vince died and once at his trial, and how ultimately the Ministry confiscated almost everything they owned. Through it all, Macmillian barely spoke a word, nodding at certain parts, but otherwise remaining almost entirely silent.

"And that's how I ended up here," Draco said, choosing to omit the parts about how he was now selling off furnishings to feed his cocaine habit.

"That's… an almost unbelievable story, you're lucky to be alive," Macmillian said, "In my estimation, you've definitely experienced major trauma. The first thing you need to understand, Draco, is that none of this is your fault."

_What the…_

"It is though, didn't you hear a single word I said?" Draco said, gesturing forcefully with one hand.

Macmillian shook his head.

"You made mistakes, yes, but what you need to understand, what you need to accept, before you can begin to heal, is although you bear some responsibility for your actions, at the end of the day, you were a child," Macmillian said, holding up his hand as Draco started to interrupt.

"A child, during a war, doing the best you could with the tools you had. I've helped children of war in the past. I can try to help you. But it will only work if you're willing to try and help yourself. You need to take an honest look in the mirror and make that decision, and really mean it," Macmillian said.

Draco nodded, his voice hoarse from talking so much.

"And you need to find a way to stop the drugs, they'll only weaken you, dull your mind, ruin your judgement, and make you dependent on them," Macmillian said, "they'll destroy your finances, your relationships, and then your life, I've seen it happen, more times than I'd care to count."

Draco nodded again.

"_We'll see about that,_" he thought as his mind rebelled against forsaking the coke.

"It's well past lights out, so, I'll see you tomorrow," Macmillian said, standing up, "I look forward to our meeting next week. Think about what I've said."

Draco also stood, his legs stiff from sitting for so long.

"Thank you sir," he said, feeling like he needed to say something for the second chance he was being given. He shook Macmillian's hand and saw himself out of the deserted first floor, the bulge of the wand in his jacket pocket more comforting than he remembered as he slipped on the outer garment. He shifted it from the inside pocket to the exterior and kept his hand on it as he walked the streets of London. Groups of muggles wandered about and a sense of revelry permeated the air, breaths visible in the frigid night as they laughed and talked and drank.

"_Of course, New Years',_" Draco thought.

At least it would be easier to avoid getting mugged with more people on the streets, so long as he kept his wits about him. The first thing he did was duck into a bar and snort a pair of bumps in the loo, then it was back out into the cold.

Now that he thought about it, Macmillian's office was the first time he'd told his whole story to anyone. Everyone and anyone he could think of in the wizarding world either saw him as a traitor, a Death Eater, or was his friend and he definitely wasn't going to open himself up like that to Theo or Blaise. Macmillian was probably the one person he _could_ tell his story to. As a squib, he knew about the wizarding world, yet didn't have contact with nearly anyone there, and he didn't have any preconceived notions.

Draco felt tired, drained, as if he'd just played a four-hour quidditch match and hadn't won. Oddly enough, it didn't feel like he'd lost, either. His thoughts returned to the canister in his pocket as he turned it over in his fingers. Draco's first reaction was there was no way on Gaia's green earth he was going to give up the coke but he considered his situation again, this time with a clearer head, ironically enough from the hit he'd just sniffed.

"_It's illegal, and Macmillian could have demanded a test, and I would have been caught for sure,_" Draco thought, "_hell, that's why I have no choice but to sit in those weekly sessions now_." The idea of allowing anyone that much leverage over him was antithetical to his entire being.

"_In fact, in retrospect, I'm fortunate it was someone as benevolent as Macmillian," _he thought.

"_What if someone else finds out, tries to blackmail me?_" he thought, "_it's not like I've been trying very hard to keep it quiet._"

He shuddered as he thought of what Brandon Clark, his probation officer, would do upon discovering his secret.

"_Plus it's expensive,_" Draco thought. He did some quick calculations, and figured he only had enough furniture to last another month or two at the rate he was burning through it.

"_And then what? I'll have to stop eventually anyway, or find a way to make money,_" he thought.

Out of everything Macmillian said, one thing stood out to Draco. He was a Malfoy. His father drilled into him that they were above other wizarding families, that even if their fortunes were exchanged with the Weasley's, for example, after only a generation or two, the Malfoys would be back on top and the gingers would be borderline destitute again.

His thoughts turned to Terry Boot, the half-blood who'd swept up his former betrothed, Astoria.

"_Is he really better than me?_" Draco thought, his mind nearly choking at the thought. He rejected the notion with everything he was.

"_I was second in our class, and there wasn't even another Gryffindor in the top ten,_" Draco thought, "_him and his fucking Tilworth and Jones apprenticeship._"

Whereas at the rugby game, meeting Boot and Astoria caused him to wallow in his unfortunate circumstances, tonight, the injustice made him want to do something about it, to right the wrongs that had been stacked up on his shoulders. Something started bubbling deep within, and it spread to fill his entire being.

"_Mother was right, I'm the son of a Black and a Malfoy, and I'll be damned if some no-name middling half-blood gets the last laugh on me,_" he thought.

Embers of competitiveness kindled and ignited, threatening to grow into a conflagration.

"_I'll show bloody Boot, and Astoria, and the whole bloody world, that they can knock the House of Malfoy down, but they can't keep us down, because I'll damn well build it right back up again,_" he thought, "_I just need to figure out a way to do it._"

He fingered the canister again; he wasn't convinced on the coke. It brought him focus. It kept him awake and made him alert. But it was insistent. Even now, he could feel the urge to do a full line, maybe two. He growled at his dilemma. Deep down he knew it was the coke pulling his strings, demanding he snort more.

"_Does that matter?_" he thought.

A fire engine blared towards him, seemingly dozens of red and white lights lighting up the night, racing up the street in the opposite direction and passing into the distance.

He knew someone who would have the answers he needed. He made a right turn down a street which would lead him back Mary's.

A half-hour later, he buzzed the intercom.

"Yeah," Mary answered, after a moment, to Draco's relief.

"It's me," Draco replied.

The door buzzed and he made his way up to the apartment.

"Shh," Mary said as she opened the door, "Bruno's sleeping."

Draco nodded as he entered. Only the kitchen light was on, leaving the living room dim except for the glow of the tele. While Mary's bruises had almost fully healed, the glare of the television made the circles under her eyes seem even more pronounced.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Mary nodded.

"Fine, just recovering. Where were you?" Mary asked, sitting down on the couch and picking up a mug in both hands.

"Talking to Macmillian," Draco replied, sitting down next to her and running his hands through his hair, "he called me out for being fucked up while watching the kids."

"Shit," Mary replied, "what's that mean?"

"He's making me go talk to him once a week until the end of the probation," Draco replied.

"Oh. That's not so bad, I thought he might turn you over to the police or something," Mary said.

"That's what he'll do if I don't go," Draco said, "and if I mess up again, I suppose."

"Hmm," Mary said, taking a sip of the steaming liquid, "don't get caught."

They watched some evening program covering a new year's party for a few minutes. Draco couldn't care less about what the hosts were blabbering about. Mary leaned into him and he found himself welcoming her comforting warmth at his side.

"Why's Bruno sleeping, shouldn't he be out at a party or something?" Draco asked.

"He's getting up early tomorrow to _run,_" Mary replied with a roll of her eyes.

"Okay," Draco replied, not wanting to get side-tracked, "listen I wanted to ask about the drugs."

Mary's eyebrows came together as she sat up.

"What about them?" she asked.

"Macmillian said something, about how they could kill you," he said, "is that true?"

Mary almost replied immediately, then caught herself.

"Too much of anything can kill you, even water," she said, "though I never heard of anyone dying from weed. But coke? Yeah, I guess, if you take too much at once, it'll, I dunno, do bad things to you, maybe you'll have a heart attack or something."

"_What?_ _Why the __**fuck **__didn't anyone tell me?_" he thought, then almost immediately the answer came to him. He paid Darren a shit ton of money every month, why would he caution him against paying him more? Mary shared with him, and if he stopped, she'd be stopping too.

Draco felt himself about to explode in anger. Mary put a finger to her lips, reminding him to be quiet.

"_It's probably common bloody knowledge out here,_" Draco thought, again cursing his lack of basic awareness in muggle matters.

"You didn't know? Don't worry, it doesn't matter, that won't happen to us," Mary said, putting a hand on his chest, "we're drug users, not drug abusers, we know our limits."

It took a moment for Draco to realize what she was saying. If there was a distinction, he wasn't entirely certain of her assertion that they landed on the desired side of that particular fence.

"Actually, all this talk is making me antsy. Fancy doing a couple lines?" Mary asked with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows.

"_YES!_" his body screamed at him.

Draco shook his head, he needed to distract her.

"Haven't got any," he lied, "though it is New Years', maybe we could, you know, have sex instead."

Mary made a 'pfft' sound, blowing a bit of hair up and out of her face.

"You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet," she said.

"That a no?" Draco asked.

Mary smirked at him and shook her head.

"It's not a no," she said, "we'll have to be quiet though."

Draco nodded.

"Just let me run to the loo first," he said.

She nodded and turned off the tele, then walked to the bedroom with a suggestive sway of her hips as Draco watched her go. She left the door ajar and Draco retreated and locked himself in the bathroom. He pulled out the film canister and popped the lid off, staring down into the full ounce of blessed white powder. Even now, he wanted to cram his nose into it and snort the whole thing.

"_It's only a matter of time,_" he realized, "_eventually you're going to mess up, take too much, or you're going to have to take that muggle pee test, and that'll be the end of it. And what, are you going to keep coming out here after the probation is done?_"

He realized he'd have to do exactly that if he wanted to keep using it. Keep coming into muggle London.

"_What are you going to do after the probation is done, assuming you even make it through, say goodbye to Mary forever?_" he thought, then shook his head, "_forget it, you can worry about that later._"

Draco pulled out his wand and considered vanishing the entire container, then he decided it would be better to see the coke destroyed, rather than vanished. He hit himself with a contraceptive charm instead and stowed the wand.

Draco lifted the toilet lid and started tapping out the cocaine, some of the fine powder collecting on the surface of the water. He knew he made the right choice when the urge to scoop it off the surface of the ruddy _toilet bowl_ water and snort it hit him. He flushed. A muffled countdown started in the apartment above, ending in cheers and song as the last of the cocaine washed down the drain.

"_Fitting,_" he thought, staring at his own bloodshot eyes and dilated pupils as he rinsed out the film canister in the sink, "_new year, new beginning._"

* * *

A/N: I am still looking for a beta, PM me if you are interested. Please send me your reviews, I love all of them.

A/N: This chapter could have easily been twice as long (and taken twice as long to get out) but I'm taking some advice and trying to pick up the pace. I cut a few scenes down to summaries: Christmas dinner at Malfoy Manor, picking Mary up from the hospital (including a more detailed discussion/argument between Draco and Mary about healing her), a scene showing Mary's mental/emotional distress at the miscarriage (rather than simply saying she hadn't been herself lately), and a scene or two that got bumped to the next Draco chapter as I felt this was a good spot to end this one. Drop me a comment and let me know your thoughts please.


End file.
